


[HIATUS] spot the patterns to feeling safe, then keep your mind in such a place

by lonereedy



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst?, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Backwards time skip after first chapter, Canon Compliant, Clyde's a good bro, Coffee Shop, Craig Tucker DOES dance but only with Tweek Tweak, Craig's Gang, Craig's gang appear in Chapter 4, Everyone loves Tweek, Fighting, First Kiss, Fluff, Jealous Craig, Kenny being a bit flirty with Tweek, Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mystery, OC coffee shop regulars, Protective Clyde, Re-writes for unposted chapters are underway!, Soft Boys, The Tuckers love Tweek and creek, Tricia loves Tweek, barista Tweek, c7 first kiss!!!, craig loves tweek, creek - Freeform, cuddly Tweek, male OC prominent for...reasons :D, soft Craig, soft Tuckers, the Asian girls still ship it, tweek loves craig
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-02-19 06:29:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22339915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonereedy/pseuds/lonereedy
Summary: [THIS FIC IS ON HIATUS WITH CHAPTER RE-WRITES COMMENCING JAN 2021].It's impossible to identify each and every catalyst that shapes our world. You can't predict or control the outcome a seemingly insignificant event may have on another. The systems around us are, by nature, chaotic and prone to change in a split second. No act is without consequences for something or someone. The someone in this case is Tweek Tweak. He just doesn't know it yet.---It all started when Craig and the guys got suspicious of a customer, and now Tweek's life as he knows it is all going to come crashing down...
Relationships: Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak
Comments: 45
Kudos: 121





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. It has been a loooong time since I gave this fic some attention. I was having a 'spring clean' of my docs and found some unpublished chapters to this fic. I originally stopped writing it after the direction of it just didn't sit well with me. I was planning to delete this fic in Jan 2021, but I've decided that will be my 'last resort'. This is the first SP multi-chap fic I shared here, and I'm going to try my best to give it an ending. So, although it's marked as 'on hiatus', I am actively editing/re-writing the unposted chapters. Thank you for your patience and support! :)

His legs are burning, right calf twitching in agony and protesting against the unrelenting pace, but he can’t slow down. He can’t stop. He _won’t_. His scuffed brown boots crunch over the uneven forest floor, one lace undone and whipping his bare shins hard enough to bring another wave of stinging tears to the corner of his eyes. The fuzzy vision and sheer adrenaline hold off the anxiety attack he’s sure would have brought him to his knees by now. Instead, he’s running harder and faster than he thought himself capable.

 _You didn't check,_ his mind taunts.

Tweek sinks his front teeth into his lip hard enough to draw blood, determined to ignore the voice and its constant judgements and putdowns. There isn't any point freaking out about it now that he's out. If he can just keep going, get out of the forest, he can break down later, in his own time. He just has to keep running. 

_Run, run, run._

It reminds him of the conversation he’d had with the gang after their misjudged movie marathon of the Friday 13th movies at Token’s for Halloween.

After nearly screaming himself hoarse, Clyde suggested they discuss plans for dealing with the unfortunate “what if?” situation of running into a psycho like Jason (to which Craig unhelpfully – though truthfully – replied they deal with someone even worse than Jason on a daily basis). Token – the mom that he is – said to humour Clyde, who had spilled soda down the front of his new Super _dry_ tee after a jump scare and wept at the irony.

Sure, they’d joked about it at first, with Token grinning at Clyde, “Maybe I’d offer to pay for his counselling for the mommy issues,”

Clyde good-naturedly threw popcorn at him, “Hell yeah, then we could swap stories. Whose mom was craziest?”

The unified, sensible escape plan was, of course, RUN.

He can hear Jimmy’s voice reverberating through his skull, “these wouldn’t m-m-m-ma-ma, be a problem,” the brunette said in all seriousness, waving his crutches to strengthen the point, “I’d run and I w-w-wouldn’t stop.”

At this point Tweek remembers shaking so hard he’d been worried the force of his trembles could topple over Clyde’s current pride and joy – the boys’ Halloween tree. Then a hand threaded through his own, grounding him and softly squeezing. Craig’s voice, extra nasally due to his cold, softly added, “and I’d _never_ let go of this hand.”

Tweek clenches that very hand now, knuckles still stinging from the well-timed right hook that gave him his freedom. A few boxing classes’ worth of knowledge had at least provided Tweek with the ability to land a hit. Still, he never thought he’d need to follow through with any of it, simple and predictable as it may have been. Fight or flight was built into human nature. He’d carried out the first to the best of his ability but the flight was more important. He may be a bag of nerves, understandably terrified after God knows how many hours since the kidnapping, but to stop and just process everything right now would be far, far worse.

He has to get out of the woods. The tall, _tall_ trees bend and sway as his vision blurs. He swallows down a blob of throat-burning bile, fighting the urge to dry heave when there's barely anything in him to throw back up. Still, his mind wants him to be sick, wants to spit everything out before he lets anything else _in_ – there’s still so much that hasn’t sunk in yet and he needs his parents to deny – or heck, maybe even confirm – the details.

He wants to go home, swallow a couple of pills and hide under his covers. He wants his mom and her comforting voice; his dad and his stupid metaphors. He wants the warmth and protection of his friends. He’s never missed Token’s motherly fussing, Jimmy’s light-hearted, tension-diffusing jokes, Clyde’s boisterously affectionate hugs and Dutch sayings and Craig’s warm arms and delicate touches – more calming than a cup of tea or a pill – as much in his life. His crazy family, his precious friends, his amazing boyfriend. He’ll never take them for granted ever again. 

Tweek’s geographically challenged at the best of times, but with fear driving him forward he can’t tell if he’s running towards safety or further away from it. He doesn’t know where he is, but he has to get away from there. The further he runs, the further away he is, right? He runs in a straight line as best he can, through the gaps in the looming trees that curl outwards as if trying to smother him in their woody embrace. The air feels heavy and stifling, drawing deeper than necessary breaths from Tweek’s sore rib cage.

The environment must be in cahoots with a plan of making him as frightened and miserable as possible; confirmed by the soggy, leaf-covered earth which increasingly drags Tweek’s boots further down, affecting his speed and draining his ever-depleting energy.

He’s already on fumes – when did he last eat? – his head pounding, and the fading sunlight does little to help his rising panic. He looks up, desperate to spy anything that could lead him to civilisation, to safety. Clouds the color of gun smoke swirl above the tallest trees, the greying sky warning of rain. There aren’t any landmarks or rooftops. No sounds other than birdsong and Tweek himself, lumbering through the forest like an injured deer. He probably looks like a wild animal too, with his dishevelled hair, dirty clothes, twitching limbs and eyes never still; flashing whites like a terrified gazelle being hunted by a stronger, smarter predator.

“Oh Jesus,” he whimpers, but it’s so loud compared to the leaves and twigs crunching underfoot and birds crowing at him from their hidden perches. His heart hammers so hard against his rib cage he wonders if it’ll pop out his chest Alien-style and leave his clammy, bony corpse twisted on the forest floor. He’ll be a tasty meal for the birds that’ll peck at his unfocused, milky eyes and the bears that’ll rip him in two. “Nnng stop it,” he wills, but the image is enough to distract him, to stall his pace, and his natural clumsiness decides it’s been long enough to hold back.

His left foot catches a gnarled tree root and he braces himself for the impact. He crumples, palms down, his strength sapped. The thud isn’t as loud as Tweek feared, though the blood rushing through his ears has dulled his senses. He lies still, panting like a steam engine and twitching every so often. His cheeks are wet. He rests his left one against the ground as his arms lose their battle in holding up his weight. He’s lucky he didn’t twist his ankle, but now that he has time to think, he has time to assess. 

_You left him. Coward._

Tweek shudders and tries to focus on his physical pains. The cuts and bruises, which for the duration of his self-imposed mini marathon had faded to a dull throb, now ache and sting. He has band aids shoved in one of his jean pockets, but the thought of having to move to find them is too unappealing. They’re probably not that bad anyway. The rope burns are worse, his wrists feel raw and tender, and the redness stands out against his pale skin. Tweek swallows hard and winces at the foreign taste in his mouth. The cut on his lip must have resumed bleeding. That explains the coppery taste. He probably looks like shit, but if it’s superficial, he’ll deal. For a moment, he can lie still, get his breath back and formulate a plan. His right eye twitches, his hands shake and he’s still crying without any awareness of it. The birds sing mockingly at his battered frame.

“I. Got. Out.” He angrily whispers back, half-lidded eyes watching the ants and woodlice pass by his nose and navigate the tangles in his unkempt blond hair. 

Tweek has watched enough medical shows to know it’s always dangerous to close your eyes and slip unconscious. If only he had the strength to shift himself into sitting, even just in _Sukhasana_ , to maintain a sense of wakefulness. Instead, since his legs aren’t quite co-operating, he focuses on his mind. On getting to his safe place. He prays his position won’t send him to eternal slumber, but sleep never comes easily to Tweek. How awfully ironic it would be if he could doze off now, the one time sleep is definitely not what he needs.

He thinks of his room, slowly visualising the walls decorated with posters. His just-made soft bed. His bedside table with two alarm clocks. The photographs of family and friends. He gradually stops seeing the forest. The woodland critters blend into their habitat as the sky grows darker. The birds’ whistles and cries dull into white noise. Tweek’s inner dimmer switch kicks in.

“Find my center,” he concentrates as his eyes slip shut. It’s quiet; peaceful. He thinks of his parents’ smiling faces. Of Craig whispering, “Honey, c’mere,” as he wraps them both in his NASA hoodie, Tweek’s arms reaching up to grasp at his neck. Craig loves their height difference, loves that Tweek loves it just as much, and right now Tweek would do _anything_ to be wrapped up safely in Craig’s arms. 

But Craig _isn’t_ here.

Tweek’s left eye twitches twice, his safe space shaking as if there’s an earthquake beneath it. “F-find my-” His breath catches in his throat. He swallows dryly, so parched it hurts. He’s drained. Tired.

He’s left surrounded by four white walls reminiscent of his old therapist’s office. A shadow lurks suspiciously in the corner; a dark blob huddled in on itself. Even from a distance, Tweek senses the ghostly figure is a person; he can just about make out its face, pale and hazy with deep, soulless eyes.

 _Don’t look_ , he urges, averting his eyes, but the rising fear in his chest refuses to dissipate. _It’s just your imagination_ , he thinks, trying to imitate his boyfriend’s caring words from all those years ago, but the feeling of being watched is spiking his anxiety.

The shadow knows he’s there. Silently watching and waiting. Tweek tries not to make a sound, frozen to the spot and wishing he could pop a Xanax or three and tune it all out. His body betrays him with a violent twitch and the shadow unfurls, interested. It’s as if there’s a flashing beacon above Tweek’s golden head and there’s no way to turn it off. The shadow glides towards him with the sweeping grace of a dementor, though the strange panting noises remind him more of a rabid dog.

Tweek can make out more facial details – a long nose and thin lips – though it’s still blurry and devoid of color, as it draws closer and closer. It takes Tweek a second to realise the wheezing noises he thought were coming from the shadow were coming out of him.

 _Gnk, n-no, not now,_ he’s breathing too hard, too fast – dammit, where’s his tablets? – and he can’t control his eyes anymore. He blinks in rapid succession, something Craig had pointed out he did before the onset of an attack, his mind frantically trying to remember how to close and open his eyelids automatically.

Tweek half groans, half sobs as his body tries to manually do everything _but it’s all wrong_. He squeezes his eyes shut, praying the attack sends him unconscious so at least he can get away from this nightmare. Then, in a moment of terror, he can’t open his eyes anymore. He’s trapped, like when he tried to remove Token’s PSVR headset during a horror game but it got stuck in his hair and he freaked out, only this is much, much scarier without the boys looking out for him. His legs are suddenly too heavy, or too light – he’s not so sure which anymore – to support him to his feet.

All he knows is he can’t get up. He can’t run. _He can’t escape._ His eyes open on their own. The face looms above him, a malicious aura radiating out of its ghostly pores. 

He’s run so far, so fast. It wasn’t enough. It’s never enough.

“N-no,” Tweek wets his dry lips, unable to move more than his tongue. The face smirks cruelly, not happy that Tweek has managed to run away in the first place. He’s going to get what’s coming to him and no one knows where he is. And when the face realises that this has just dawned on Tweek, the smirk gets even wider, uglier.

“Hello Tweekie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! :)
> 
> After this chapter, there is a backwards time skip. I hope you enjoy the rest of this story,
> 
> All feedback is much appreciated! :
> 
> Chat with me on [Tumblr!](https://soft-craig-and-tweek.tumblr.com//)


	2. coffee brews before trouble brews

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to read the prologue! This chapter takes place several months before the events of the prologue. Time for some barista!Tweek and coffee shop cosiness. All mistakes are my own. Some OCs appear as kooky regulars (because all coffee shops have them, right?!) Also, anyone else love soft!Craig/soft!Tuckers?!

_6 months earlier_

“Hello! Welcome to Tweak Coffee. What can I interest you in today? …Sure, coming right up.” _Tap, tap, bang. Drip, drip. Vrrrrrrrr._ “Hi there. Welcome to Tweak Coffee. What can I interest you in today?” _Tap, tap, bang. Drip, drip. Vrrrrrrrr._ “Welcome to Tweak Coffee…which of our local coffees would you like to try? …Yes, it’s all fresh, locally sourced ingredients…enjoy your drinks.” _Tap, tap, bang. Drip, drip. Vrrrrrrrr._ “Our Sunset Blend?”  


Tweek briefly looks up from his sweeping as Dad excitedly puts the first cup that morning underneath Red Fred – only Dad’s allowed to touch _that_ machine, Mom and Tweek only work with reliable old Black Jack – weighing out the coffee, tapping it, blessing it and setting Fred to work.

“You know,” Dad smiles, and Tweek shakes his head fondly, already ready to recite the wise words of Richard Tweak in his mind, “a cup of Tweak’s Sunset Blend isn’t a bland landscape of one note flavors. It has that edge you need to stay focused. _Focused_ , like a camera capturing a memory; a golden moment.” Dad takes a sip from his ceramic mug and the customer waits, enraptured, and likely a little confused, by his honeyed voice and gentle sales pitch. “ _Golden_ , like how our liquid gold takes your taste buds to heaven with a kick that keeps you grounded. _Grounded_ like the fresh grinds of our local, organic Tweak blends.” Tweek cringes a little. For years, Dad would playfully threaten to ground him for doing anything that could jeopardize their coffee business. If anything, Mom jokes Dad’s insufferable – though harmless – metaphors and similes could have put the customers off. Instead, it actually brings more people through the door to check out the _eerily calm, veering on spaced out man who speaks in riddles, nerds out over coffee AND has a gay son._

Tweek still remembers the time he and Mom came back after one of his appointments which happened to coincide with pride weekend. Dad and Mr Tucker had spent the last hour cheerfully decorating the coffee shop with pride banners and wearing handmade badges declaring “I’m proud of my gay son”. The customers all praised the progressive parents for their acceptance and acknowledgement. Dad’s empty coffee cup on the counter turned into a tip jar and it was overflowing before Tweek even had time to put on his apron. Craig’s still mortified that despite the town losing interest in them _years_ ago, it’s his own father – though Tweek reminds him Dad’s just as guilty – raising the hype at any opportunity.  


At the counter, the customer is lapping up Dad’s weird metaphors. “Our _blends_ are born from family values, fresh ingredients and brewing expertise. There’s nothing better than a good cup of locally grown, locally loved, Tweak tweaked coffee.” Red Fred softly exhales and Dad swiftly takes the cup and politely shoves – nobody _politely shoves_ as well as Dad, it’s as if the phrase exists just for him; a perfect oxymoron – the cup under the lady’s nose.

“What can you smell?” Falling soft for Dad’s natural charm and pure, _unfiltered_ adoration for coffee, the customer sniffs before taking the cup into her own hands.

“It’s…fruity?” Her voice rises up at the end as if posing a question. Dad nods encouragingly. “And deep. It’s very…” she takes a tentative sip, scrunching up her nose in a way that reminds Tweek of Stripe #5, “very…black.”

Dad releases a sigh so small that only Mom and Tweek pick up on it, but the smile on his face doesn’t drop at all. “There’s milk and sugar at the end of the counter if you need it.” She thanks him and shuffles towards the jugs marked “2%” and “oat”. When she chooses the “2%” one, Dad has to look away, still unable to watch customers _taint_ the coffee.

Mom brushes past him to stock up the paper cups, stroking his arm reassuringly. “Snob,” she whispers teasingly, her soft bob bouncing against her shoulders as she ducks down to replenish the lids.

“Always,” Dad pats Mom’s shoulder gently; an unspoken _thank you_. Tweek likes the days where the hours pass by quickly and his parents have time to be playful.  


Saturday mornings are usually busy with the three of them dancing around each other to serve a never-ending queue of customers after a quick coffee fix. As the only coffee shop located in the northeastern part of town, Tweak Bro’s. Coffee has their dedicated kooky-in-their-own-way regulars. Dad’s always saying it’s important for a family business to remember the name, face and preferences of their fellow coffee-obsessed aficionados. Tweek still has the flashcards Dad made him as a celebratory gift for completing his barista training. At first, the pressure of committing all the names to faces had phased and frightened Tweek. He’d locked himself in the family bathroom on the verge of a panic attack, trembling fingers automatically dialling Craig – who’d really meant it when he’d promised, _you call me anytime, honey_ – his calming voice on the other end of the phone more effective than the bottle of pills in Tweek’s pocket.  


Tweek scans the customers currently sitting in, visualising the flashcards written in Dad’s neat, flowery writing. _Mrs Bannerman: weekday mornings (long black), weekends (cappuccino), note: likes to order carrot cake or coffee cake, owns five cats (latte art idea?)_. Mrs Bannerman sits at the table nearest the back room, usually with a book on her lap, although the Tweaks caught onto the ruse early on. Every few sentences she glances around and if you happen to catch her eye, that’s all she needs to instigate a conversation. First, she’ll mention the book (prop) she’s reading – this week it’s Andrea Camilleri’s _The Shape of Water_ – but Tweek guarantees she’ll have read only a couple of pages by the end of her 40-minute stay.

Mom says she’s lonely – there’s never a mention of a Mr or Mrs Bannerman in her stories – so sometimes, when there’s a lull, one of them will go over and start lazily wiping the nearest free table (their own ruse, trying to catch her eye when she thinks she’s catching them) and finding themselves sat on the opposite chair to their chattiest customer; pulled into tales about travelling scarves (Mom’s favorite), bored housewives (fellow customer Mr Fellows' favorite) and detergent recommendations (Dad’s favorite, purely because of the amount of metaphors and similes he’s come up with). Tweek’s favorite rarely comes up, which he’s glad of since it’s embarrassing and Dad always makes it _worse_ with his teasing, but it’s Mrs Bannerman’s observations about him and Craig. How she notices the little things about them that once the whole town had looked out for. Now, it’s just a friendly elderly lady who, when it’s Tweek at her table and she’s talking about Craig, smiles knowingly, saying variations of “you boys are good for each other. Don’t ever let him go.” Tweek twitches and blushes, whispering a “thank you” when really, he wants to scream, _yes, I’m so lucky and thankful for Craig. I’m so happy it worked out. Never, ever, ever will I let him go by choice. I don’t want to screw this up._ Sometimes Tweek thinks she can read minds because she always ends their conversation (monologue honestly) with “you’ll be fine, Tweek. Thanks for the company. And the cake.”  


Mr Fellows is also in today, enjoying a flat white with one of Tweek’s cupcakes. _Mr Fellows: Tuesdays-Thursdays (espresso), Saturdays (flat white), note: only orders vanilla cupcakes, usually buys more to take out (box four ready to go)._ He doesn’t stay long during the week, grabbing a quick cup of espresso before work, but on Saturdays he relaxes with a paper and a cupcake. Ever since the Kim Jong-Un debacle, Tweek’s cupcake recipe has been a staple on the dessert menu.

Another regular is in today, too. _Jaxon: Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, Saturdays (long black, Sunset Blend), note: likes chocolate brownies._ He’s a college student, always bringing his laptop and ear buds to the café and often ordering multiple drinks during his stay, so Dad’s more than happy to let him take the table nearest to a power socket. Tweek passes by his table to check on the cup he assumes is empty again. Jaxon’s long fingers fly across his keys, occasionally hitting backspace, then continuing on. Once he pauses for longer than a couple of seconds, staring so hard at the screen that Tweek’s eyes twitch sympathetically for him, Tweek makes his approach. Maybe another coffee would give him a much-needed boost? Mom does say that students depend on caffeine to get through stressful exams and assessments.

“Um, hey Jaxon. Can I – gnk – get you a refill?”  


Jaxon looks up, blinks twice, then removes his earbuds. “Hey Tweek,” he returns the smile, “I suppose another long black wouldn’t go amiss, thanks.” He roots around in his jacket pocket, then drops the exact change into Tweek’s open palm.  


“S-sure,” Tweek nods, deciding to add a brownie free of charge. Jaxon looks more stressed today than he has the last few weeks. College must be tough. “How’s the essay?”  


Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Jaxon releases a defeated sigh. “Getting there. Still got a few thousand words to go. Makes me wish I was still in eighth grade.”  


Tweek knows he’s lucky to still be years away from college, but he can dream up hundreds of possibilities of how, when and where everything could go wrong before he’s even left _school_. “Sorry man. Best of luck.” He passes the order onto Mom and Black Jack chugs out another steaming long black. Tweek plates up a chocolate brownie, freshly baked by him and Mom last night, then delivers the order.  


Then his apron pings. It’s Craig. Tweek knows it is before pulling his phone out and checking the screen. _On our way._ Another ping. _5 mins._ A final ping. _x._  


“Mom?” Tweek joins her in front of Black Jack. “Please can I…?” He’s strangely nervous, even when she passes him the jug. He doesn’t have to ask, but it feels _wrong_ not to, especially when they’ve been preparing him for moments like these since he was eight years old.  


“He’s all yours.” Mom smiles, patting Black Jack affectionately. “When are we expecting Craig?” Mom passes Tweek a cup, giving Dad a thumbs up over Tweek’s messy head.  


“About five minutes. He’s with Tricia.” The Tucker siblings are hot chocolate fans (Craig really tries to drink some coffee, though the odd cappuccino is all he can really manage, the _lightweight_ ). Craig’s a fan of their Peruvian inspired hot chocolate with hints of cloves and cinnamon. Tricia thinks that particular concoction is as disgusting as her brother, opting instead for a white hot chocolate topped with marshmallows.  


Tweek takes a rag sitting on top of Black Jack and wipes the machine clean. He spends more time on this than usual, not wanting to make their drinks too early and have them go cold. When it hits two minutes until the Tuckers’ arrival, he fills Mom’s milk jug to the line under the spout just as he’s practiced. In Craig’s cup he adds broken up Peruvian chocolate, and white chocolate buttons in Tricia’s. He sprays the steamer nozzle to clear it, then angles the jug with the nozzle diving about an inch deep into the creamy liquid oats.

Mom steps back to give him his space, but Tweek’s in his zone now, determined to make Craig (and Tricia) the best hot chocolates he can manage. He turns the dial anti-clockwise, holding the jug handle in his right-hand and placing his left-hand underneath the jug to get a feel for the temperature. 

“Good job, son,” Dad praises as the steamer starts making short, high pitched chirps. The temperature of the milk keeps rising and Tweek tries to keep his trembling left-hand underneath until it’s too hot to hold. _1, 2, 3. Stop._ He turns the steamer off and puts the jug of steamed oat milk on the counter. He swirls it gently, enraptured by how silky smooth it looks. He manages to finish pouring the two drinks and cover Tricia’s chocolate with vegan marshmallows as the door rings.  


Tweek looks up, heart pounding as it always does when those warm, familiar blue eyes lock with his own. He lets Mom add stirring sticks to the cups as he greets the Tucker siblings; Craig standing tall in his black skinny jeans and blue zip up jacket, a few loose black hair strands poking out of his ratty chullo, and Tricia, almost as tall as Tweek even in flat sneakers, with her turquoise cable jumper tucked into her pleated white skirt and strawberry blonde hair worn in multiple mini plaits under a purple beanie. The siblings are intimidating at a glance; imposingly tall and wearing matching impassive expressions, but both light up a fraction in Tweek’s presence. Like twins, they greet him at the same time.  


“Hey honey.”  


“Tweek!”  


Craig opens his arms and Tweek sinks into them, head resting against Craig’s chest with Tricia hugging him from behind. It’s so _warm._ Whoever thinks the Tuckers don’t share any emotion doesn’t know them at _all_. It’s funny, Tweek thinks from inside his Tucker sandwich, that he’s grown up in Tweak Bro’s, yet it only really feels like home when Craig’s here.  


“Now, now, boys and girl. Don’t let the drinks get cold,” Mom chides, though there’s no urgency in her voice.

Right now, Tweek doesn’t want to move. Doesn’t want Craig to let go. Ever. He should have told Mrs Bannerman. Should have told anyone who’d listen, even though it’s probably so obvious it’s written all over his face.

_Never, ever, ever will I let him go by choice. I hope he never lets go of me either._


	3. freebies for Richard Simmons' dead ringer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it this far, thanks so much for reading this mess. If you spot any glaring errors, please let me know and I'll fix them.

Tweek’s searching for his coffee cup printed duffel bag in the back room, sensing Mom behind him before she can even open her mouth. Her playful smile from earlier has gone and she looks worried; soft pink lips pressed together in a thin line and hands gripping the hem of her apron to stop her from overly fussing over Tweek. He’s not a little boy anymore, but he’ll _always_ be her little boy. He knows she can’t help but worry even when it’s just an overnight with the boys.  


“They’re in my pockets,” he reassures, smoothing a twitchy finger over the plastic tub of Propranolol resting by his left thigh.  


“Phone?” Mom asks, because sometimes Tweek reminds her of Dad, losing track of his possessions as well as his thoughts. After successfully locating the colorful duffel beside an unopened sack of their daily blend, Tweek pulls ‘the brick’ – an apt nickname courtesy of Jimmy, who jokes that Tweek’s oversized protective case makes a decent defensive weapon – out of his apron pocket and shows Mom that the battery is almost fully charged. His charger's in the bag somewhere, likely buried under the snacks, book, spare clothes, fresh underwear, Craig's old hoodie - the one he gave to Tweek when they both realized Tweek was getting far more wear out of it - and Tweek's comfiest pajamas. Craig likes to rib him for being unable to pack light, but Tweek believes in being prepared.

Mom has Mrs Black’s number too, just in case, but she’s always been a bit hesitant to check in without cause for concern. Mrs Black is an intimidating figure to Mom, who can’t help but stare in wonder at the designer clothing Mrs Black dons outside of work whilst Mom happily settles for J-Mart dresses and hand-me-down sweaters. They lead such different lives and come from polar opposite backgrounds.  


“Have a great time sweetheart,” she pulls him into a hug, her chin resting on top of his untameable blond hair. She smells like coffee with a hint of tart citrus from the magnolia perfume on her wrists and collar bone; a fragrance that seems thirty years too old for Mom and her baby face but reminds her of her beloved Aunt Edie.  


“Thanks, I will.” Tweek squeezes Mom back, more for her reassurance than any reluctance to leave. Every time she lets him go, she’s replaying _that_ phone call from Mr Donovan. Tweek wonders how many more times he’ll have to put his parents through some sort of worry or grief. How many more times he’ll have to lay in his bed, head pounding and body twitching as the _painfully_ slow-release pills trickle into his system at glacial pace, trying to convince himself that _he is fine_. He’s doing a lot better though, and on good days he feels better than ever, even though he hates his dependency on the pills. And Craig’s there to remind him of his progress if he ever has a mini meltdown. He can’t always find the words to say it – the fact that he’s open about this with Tweek, that he knows he doesn’t have to hide his own insecurities behind a tough façade, makes Tweek fall in love with him all over again – but Tweek _feels_ it in his actions; in his ability to listen and how he’s constantly reading up and learning how to deal with a mess like Tweek. There’s also the other boys in Craig’s gang; his supportive additional family. In particular, Clyde has become the friend Tweek feared he’d never find after drifting away from Jason.  


Craig and Tricia are still sipping on their hot chocolates when Tweek and Mom come back onto the shop floor.  


“Cool bag, Tweek,” Tricia nods in approval at the duffel bag. Tweek loves it too; a generous and useful birthday gift from Token. “Reflects your personality,” she adds, and Tweek bites his lip, wondering if he should be worried about being likened to the wildly sporadic printed cups of different coffees. _Well, I can’t deny being a bit mad. And I do love coffee,_ he muses. “Just like Craig’s reflects his.” Tricia continues, jabbing the toe of her clean white sneaker into the dull, well-worn blue duffel bag at her brother’s feet.  


“Shut it or you’re walking yourself home,” Craig scowls, picking the bag up and slinging it with practiced ease over his shoulder.  


Tricia flips him the bird, “Whatever, I’ll tell Mom.”  


Although the siblings bicker frequently, Tweek’s a little jealous of their relationship. Craig has a list as long as Mr Tucker’s legs of complaints about his little sister, but he’s also low-key proud of her. She shares a lot of Craig’s traits, from the deadpan expressions to generally not giving a shit about anyone else’s drama.  


“Thanks for the chocolate, babe,” Craig wipes the brown smudge off of his top lip with the back of his hand, earning an “ _ewwwww_ , Craig!” from Tricia. Craig ignores her to praise Tweek, “you’re a true artist here too, honey,” whilst Tricia simultaneously tuts, “ _Seriously_ , you must be adopted.”  


“No problem Craig,” Tweek interrupts, knowing from the sparkle in Craig’s eyes that he noticed and appreciated the freehand cocoa dusting of a heart on top of his chocolate. “I’m getting better with the steamer.”  


“Mine was sooo silky. White chocolate is the best hot chocolate!” Tricia adds happily, wiping her own mouth with a tissue.  


Dad walks over to clear away their empty cups, but first he’s clamping a hand on Craig’s shoulder. Craig’s about an inch taller than Dad now, but even he seems to shrink just a little under the cheerful scrutiny of Richard Tweak. “You know how to compliment a Tweak,” Dad’s smiling dreamily, “like how our cupcakes complement our cappuccinos.”  


“Yes, dear,” Mom steps in. “Why don’t you refill Tweek’s thermos, then they can get going?”  


As he does so, Mom finally notices Tricia’s beanie and squawks like Tweek’s late parrot Pollux. “She’s wearing it!” Mom giggles like a school girl, tapping Tweek’s arm in her excitement.  


“ _She’s_ right in front of us, Mom,” Tweek flushes in embarrassment. He too recognises the beanie he bought while out shopping with Mom for Tricia’s last birthday. A while ago, Tricia made a comment about how nice and comfy Mom’s purple beanie looked, so Mom says it’s fate that they found a cute, similar one in the nick of time.  


A slight quirk of a smile is the only tell on Tricia’s impassive, Tucker-inherited face. “It’s, like, _totes_ my style, Mrs Tweak,” she says, ignoring Craig’s eye roll as he adds, “literally _no-one_ says _totes_ anymore, Trish. What are you, a Valley girl?”  


“I’m – gnk – glad you like it,” Tweek says honestly, pleased that the first present he’s given to his boyfriend’s sister has been well-received. Like Dad’s always saying, _know the preferences of your regulars_ , and if Tweek has any say in his undetermined future, he knows he wants Craig and his family to be a constant presence.  


Dad brings Tweek’s refilled thermos over, exchanging a look with Mom that Tweek can’t quite decipher. “From Black Jack,” is all he says, but that seems to be the right answer because Mom’s still smiling.  


“Hey, I’m off too,” Jaxon’s packed up his laptop, the brownie devoured with only a few tell-tale crumbs left scattered on his plate to show it had even been there. “Thanks for the brownie, Tweek. You’re so talented in the kitchen.”  


“Th-thanks. Good luck with the paper,” Tweek twitches as he meets Jaxon’s warm brown eyes. He’s about Craig’s height with tightly curled hair and a splattering of acne across his hairline.  


“Urgh, thanks. See you Monday?”  


“Yep, I’ll be here,” Tweek releases his own sigh, looking up at Craig just in time to spot the look of distaste on his face.  


“That the _lovelorn, slightly taller Richard Simmons lookalike_ Clyde keeps going on about?” Craig asks once the college student has exited the cafe, careful to keep his tone flat and neutral, although Tweek can tell he’s not pleased.  


“Jaxon’s been a regular here for a few months,” Tweek shrugs. “He doesn’t look that much like Richard Simmons.”  


“He’s about as gay as Richard Simmons,” Tricia nods, “he’s _into_ you, Tweek.”  


“Well, there’s no real proof Simmons is gay,” Dad unhelpfully adds, “just like there’s no proof that our _old_ daily blend tasted like ‘raw sewage’.”  


“But Dad, don’t you remember that Cartman-” Tweek starts, closing his mouth at the look Mom shoots.  


“That boy’s a big, fat liar,” Dad says, and there’s too much truth to that statement for anyone to say anything otherwise, “I repeat. _No. Proof_.”  


Mom's repeatedly smoothing down her apron, something she does when she’s thinking or anxious, “Didn’t he go missing? Simmons? Oh, I do hope he’s alright.”  


“Yes, he must be at least seventy.” Dad takes Mom’s hand into his own and gives it a gentle squeeze.  


Craig’s more concerned about the Richard Simmons lookalike than the flamboyant 80s fitness instructor. “Does he talk to you a lot?”  


“Not really?” Tweek hates how small his voice sounds, _now’s probably not the best time to say he compliments my baking. Not me, just my baking_ , he thinks, his right eye twitching, just in case Craig really gets the wrong idea. “I don’t think Jaxon has any interest in me. Why would he?”

Tweek honestly doesn’t see why Clyde has been making a big deal about his short exchanges with Jaxon. Surely someone as easy-going as Craig can see past Clyde’s unfounded suspicions? _I’m already lucky enough to have Craig think I’m worth something. No way would anyone else think I’m worth their time,_ Tweek thinks, his free hand instinctively tucking back into his pocket to make sure the pills are still sat there, waiting for him to snap.  


“Why _wouldn’t_ he?” Craig almost spits back, and Tweek almost drops his thermos at the sudden change in his tone. “You’re a good guy, Tweek. He can probably see that too.”  


“Speaking of good, son…I know your heart’s in the right place, but we _are_ a business. Can’t be giving out too many freebies.”  


“Gah!” Tweek jumps, worried that at this rate he’s going to have a heart attack before they’ve even left for Token’s. “You saw that?! S-sorry, Dad.”  


“You’re giving _him_ free food now?” Craig almost sounds defeated, as if he could imagine, even for a second, that Tweek would ever contemplate some form of cheating. _Never, ever, Craig._  


“He looked like he needed it.” Tweek argues, then lowers his voice to whisper, “I give Clyde and Kenny treats on the house too s-sometimes. What’s the problem?”  


Craig steps closer and slowly places both of his adult-sized hands onto Tweek’s lithe shoulders, his duffel bag swinging against the back of his legs with a dull thud. “Honey,” he sighs, schooling his face back to his infamous I-don’t-give-a-fuck expression, “ _My_ problem isn’t with you. From what I’ve heard…I just don’t trust him.”  


“And here I thought _I_ was the paranoid one in this relationship!” Tweek jokes, and at least Tricia smiles, “you don’t know him Craig. Neither do I, if I’m honest. He’s just a student needing a coffee fix and – gnk – free wifi, that’s all. I don’t know what Clyde’s been saying, but we know how he likes to exaggerate stuff. Can we please go now?”  


Craig gently wraps an arm around Tweek, mindful of his open thermos, and then lowers his head to whisper, “I do trust you, Tweek. Always have, always will.”  


The ratty ends of his chullo tickle Tweek’s neck and his soft words send a ripple down his spine. Craig’s fingers gently brush against Tweek’s abdomen, just above the area that makes him flinch. It’s as daring as they both feel comfortable with, still at the stage where the most delicate of touches leaves them flushed and breathless. Tweek’s brave enough to return the gesture, running his own hand up the strong arm by his waist; and although he’s currently unable to see it, Tweek just knows the faint brushing turns the tips of Craig’s ears a lovely pink hue.  


Dad chuckles at their open display of affection, proud of Tweek’s growing confidence. “You know Craig, Tweek takes after his mom and her family. Helen was the prettiest girl at school. Have I told you the story of how we met?”  


“Daaaaad, not now!” Tweek steps out of Craig’s light hold and takes a quick swig from his thermos. He’ll probably need _another_ refill before they’ve set off at this rate. “We’ve got to go!”  


Dad’s oblivious as always to Tweek’s embarrassment, continuing, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he has all sorts of suitors. You know, just the other day, even Thomas was saying-”  


“Mr Tweak, I’m afraid I have to get my sister home now,” Craig steps in and Tweek shoots him a grateful look. “Thanks for the drinks.”  


“Yeah, Craig’s desperate to go change into his space nerd leggings,” Tricia teases, fully expecting the bird Craig sends her way.  


“They’re _lounge pants_ , idiot,” Craig says, picking up Tweek’s duffel despite the protests, “For our, umm, guided meditation.” The Tweaks’ eyes light up at this, ecstatic that Craig has started showing interest in their family traditions. Tweek tugs weakly at his bag strap, unsure whether to just let Craig do what he wants. He’s got a _protective vibe_ going on. Probably because of Jaxon. “I’ve got it. Don’t want you spilling your coffee, babe. Let’s go.”  


“Thanks Craig,” Tweek links arms with Tricia, carefully closing the lid on his half empty thermos. He can always get a refill at Token’s. He has an amazing coffee machine that the Tweaks are all very envious about.

The three of them amble out of the almost empty coffee shop, Tweek turning around at the door to wave back at his parents. Dad returns the wave with a grin. Mom looks tense again, one hand clutching at her grey apron. Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. _I’ll text her later_ , Tweek decides, the guilt bubbling up again from his gut. He sinks his hand instinctively into his jean pockets; first the left, then the right. The pills are still there. _I mean, everything’s fine now._  


The pills rattle gently as they begin their walk back to the Tucker residence. Tweek ignores the voice that pipes up softly at the back of his skull. _You know what else rattles?_ It asks, sickly sweet like the host of a game show. _Something broken._


	4. and so he’s armed with a brick and mace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wouldn't usually put an image of a text convo into a story in case it breaks up the reading, but I just really wanted Craig and his mom using middle finger emojis! As always, thank you for reading. :)

They walk in comfortable silence, Tricia sometimes skipping a bit ahead of the boys, towards the Tucker residence. Tweek sips at his coffee until it’s finished, his free hand comfortably entwined with Craig’s. It’s so familiar for them to hold hands at this point that Tweek feels oddly empty to be close to Craig and _not_ be able to touch him, as if Craig’s some kind of gigantic extension of his own body. Once they’re close enough to see the house, Tricia tugs on her brother’s arm.

“Here’s close enough,” she says, “you don’t want Dad catching you, right?”

Craig nods almost appreciatively, his sister sharp enough to realise why he’d brought his bag with him rather than picking it up when they’d dropped Tricia safely home.

Thomas Tucker is the self-proclaimed biggest fan of the boys’ relationship and is enthusiastically-bordering-on-obsessively interested in all aspects of their coupledom. The Tuckers in general just adore Tweek, and Craig’s Mom often refers to him as her other son. Mr Tucker can’t wait for them to turn sixteen, urging Craig to get ready to ‘put a ring on it’ and make him proud and winking at Tweek as he reminds him that _“Tweek Tucker sure is a mighty fine name isn’t it, future son-in-law?”_

Tweek pretty much short circuits when the conversation edges towards marriage and babies, but Mr Tucker just thinks it’s cute – and sometimes he’ll throw a long, fatherly arm around Craig’s shoulders and sigh, _“What is it about cute blondes, huh?”_ which Craig flat out refuses to respond to – and now whenever Mr Tucker catches sight of Tweek, the red-haired giant can’t help but ask a variety of questions, from: “Is my son still treating you well,” to “look at my new acquisition!” as he shoves in their faces his latest purchase of yaoi art portraying his son and Tweek in a range of friendly-to-intimate positions.

Tweek is still a little intimidated by him, unable to say ‘no’ and turning redder by the second as Mr Tucker probes into their _pure_ relationship. Mr Tucker’s impressive collection of artwork has taken over the Tucker’s dining room and basement – Mrs Tucker insisted they keep it out of the bedroom – and Tricia moved one suggestive piece into the family bathroom just to embarrass Craig further. It’s lovely how supportive the Tuckers are, especially after a rocky start, but it can be a tad overwhelming. Mrs Tucker had sent her son a warning text earlier that morning after receiving a package addressed to the _creek fanclub leader_.

[](https://ibb.co/CHj3LTk)

“Have a good time, Tweek,” Tricia presses a quick kiss to Tweek’s left cheek, sticking her tongue out at her stupidly jealous brother. “How someone as sweet as you can put up with _my_ brother, I’ll never know!”

Craig deadpans, “Fuck off, Trish,” but there’s no real bite to it.

“It’s easier than you think,” Tweek blushes, “Se-see you later, Tricia!” Tweek waves goodbye to the strawberry-blonde girl whilst the siblings swap the bird; the biggest sign of Tucker affection as well as it being an insult, depending on the delivery.

Once Tricia reaches the front door and gives them a thumbs up, Craig and Tweek continue their walk hand in hand all the way to Token’s mansion on the edge of town. It’s a good twenty minute walk, and fifteen minutes in, Craig finally exhales, “Babe?”

Tweek can read the unspoken _can we talk?_ since Craig isn’t one to waste words. “Yeah, Craig?” he replies, squeezing the hand that has kept him grounded so many times.

Craig’s silent for another couple of minutes as they start the trek up the Black’s drive. “Earlier…you know that was _my_ problem, right?” Craig’s gotten so much better at admitting stuff like this when it’s just the two of them. Tweek’s super proud of him. “Clyde kept saying stuff and it pissed me off. Then, seeing the guy in person…” Craig shakes his head, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Tweek presses closer, bumping his hip against Craig’s thigh as he rings Token’s doorbell, “It – you, gnk – didn’t upset me. We just need to clear things up with Clyde, that’s all.”

Speak of the devil, it’s Clyde who pulls the door open, a beefy arm wrapping around Tweek’s waist and yanking him to his side. “Tweekie, you made it!” He celebrates as Token tuts from behind, “let them in, doofus.” 

“You k-knew I was coming!” Tweek returns the enthusiastic hug, “and I texted you back.”

“Yeah, but only with an ‘ok’ and a few emojis. I was serious, man. I was gonna come get you.”

“He really was worried,” Token says as he and Craig greet each other with their special ‘best bro’ handshake before he claps Tweek on the back. Craig pushes Clyde away from the attempted hug, choosing instead to ruffle up his styled hair just to piss him off.

“Not the ‘do, Craig,” Clyde groans, immediately running his fingers through the gelled locks. “What did I ever do to you?”

“The evening’s not long enough for me to answer that,” Craig sighs, “but mostly it’s you thinking Tweek can’t look after himself. Besides, I was there.”

“Only at the end of his shift!” Clyde splutters, giving himself a once over in Token’s entranceway mirror. 

“Need I remind you that _I_ was the one prepared to take down Spielberg,” Tweek huffs, “I lugged that bazooka all the way from the coffee shop. _And_ I’m still a match for Craig, even though we haven’t had any reason to have a re-match.”

Craig and Token exchange glances, the taller conceding, “That’s right, honey,” he doesn’t add that he’s been working out in the Black’s private gym with Token when Tweek’s working – not because he thinks he _has_ to protect Tweek, who has proven himself on many occasions to be perfectly capable of looking after himself, but because he wants to _catch up_ to him. The blond has his father’s build; lean and sinewy muscle, fast reflexes and a surprisingly strong right hook. Craig’ll never forget the weight behind those punches all those years ago. Craig’s training because he _wants_ to protect Tweek; it’s never been because he thought the younger boy was weak. 

Clyde looks slightly horrified, his hair, sticky from the gel, flopping over his left eye, “Didn’t mean it like that Tweekie,” he says, “Physically I know _I_ wouldn’t stand a chance against you…” He catches Tweek’s eye sheepishly, unable to add the _“but, mentally”_ that has Tweek cringing. “Sorry, dude,” Clyde whispers and Tweek forgives him instantly. _It isn’t Clyde’s fault,_ Tweek’s mind says, unusually reassuring, _it was YOU who broke down there. Now he’ll always see that weak side of you. Doesn’t matter how strong you think you are._ Craig drops both their duffel bags to run his hands down Tweek’s arms. He’s shaking slightly. _Dammit, pull yourself together!_ Tweek scolds himself, aware that Token’s watching, worry etched across his sharp features. Clyde can’t meet his eye and goes back to fluffing up his hair.

“Deep breaths, babe,” Craig encourages, voice like honey as he lets Tweek fall back against him, eyes closed and counting as he breathes. It takes only a few moments for him to recover, turning around to look deep into Craig’s eyes.

“Thanks Craig,” there’s so much love and affection reflected in those blue irises, the windows to the soul, that Tweek would happily follow the cliché and drown in them if it meant he could always feel so loved. “And Clyde, I’m glad you’re looking out for me. You’ve got my back, I’ve got yours, yeah?”

Clyde sniffs just once, then nods, “always, man.” He’s managed to somewhat fix up his brown curls – even mussed up his hair looks neater than Tweek’s perpetual bird’s nest – so Craig picks up his duffel bag, Tweek grabbing his own quickly before Craig offers to carry both again, and the boys follow Token through the Black’s exquisitely furnished corridors. 

“How did you have access to a bazooka, anyway?” Clyde asks, mostly for conversational purposes as the residents of South Park are so used to strange shit just happening without rhyme or reason – except, obviously, through the involvement of Cartman – that people just don’t tend to ask questions anymore. 

Tweek shrugs nonchalantly, “It was Dad’s. From one his rally’s, I guess? He’d forgotten all about it until I freaked out about a one-man rescue mission. We didn’t tell Mom,” he adds, knowing she disapproved of Dad’s hidden weapon stash. They arrive at the first floor games room where Jimmy’s waiting with cans of soda and an assortment of nibbles.

“H-h-hey,” Jimmy waves at them from deep inside the Black’s cosy armchair. His legs are propped up on a fancy foot stool with a couple of ice packs on top, although it’s not that much of a surprise; his absence at the door gave away his current condition. Jimmy likes to be on his feet, always moving and always pushing on. He’s clearly been pushing too hard again; after a busy week working on the school paper and a vigorous game of dodge ball on the Friday (which, due to Cartman being his typical asshat self, had gone on for far longer than normal) he’s suffering the consequences. Still, he’s all smiles when Tweek carefully deposits his thermos on the snack table, launches his duffel to the floor and goes straight to him for a hug.

“Glad you made it, Tweekie, Clyde was pretty much sh-sh-shi, crapping himself when your shift ended,” Jimmy chortles, a strong bicep wrapping around Tweek’s shoulder as the blond perches on the chair’s arm. Craig looks at them sat together, clearly platonic but still a good-looking pair. Sure, Jimmy’s face is a little uneven, his lazy eye has a mind of its own and his legs are twisted and bony. But that’s just the disability, and it’s never defined Jimmy, who’s love for life comes across in every smile. He easily pokes fun at himself, and at times he’s a damn good comedian, able to turn on the charm better than the rest of the gang. His strength training has been going well too, improving his stamina but also bulking up his biceps. He’s more toned than Clyde – and points this out to him _often_ – and only Wendy is a match for him at arm wrestling. The bulging arm slung around Tweek’s shoulder is just one outward sign of Jimmy’s strength. 

“ _Heeeeeeeey_ ,” Clyde whines, “weren’t you worried too?” 

Craig dumps his duffel bag next to Clyde’s – which still has his grubby name tag from a school trip in seventh grade hanging off it – and settles himself onto Token’s sofa. He looks at Tweek now, at the way he rests his head almost innocently against Jimmy’s, subconsciously preventing Jimmy from having to reach further than necessary for the one-armed hug. He looks at his wild, blond hair, forever a mess even when combed – and Tricia has really _tried_ – but it only adds to his charm.

Tweek was born to be messy and disorganised; anxious and a worrier, scrawny and pale, short yet strong. He’s loyal and loving. The way he scrunches up his button nose, the same as his mother’s, as he twitches. _Tweek’s beautiful._ He’s beautiful and Jimmy’s handsome. Token joins Craig on the sofa, leaving a small space for Tweek to nestle into. He looks relaxed in a purple tee with dark pants covering his long – but not _Craig-long_ – legs. He looks like a teen model (and Craig admits Token’s probably the best looking out of them all) and has the budget for their high-end, designer clothing. The tee he’s in now probably cost more than Craig’s entire closet. Token passes Craig a soda, “We were more worried about you, really,” he says to Clyde, who’s pacing in front of Jimmy and Tweek. 

“Craig, did you see _the Simmons wannabe_?” Clyde asks, fists clenched as he dramatically stalks back and forth past the arm chair like an agitated cat trapped behind a patio door, desperate to roam beyond the prison of four walls. 

Tweek rolls his eyes, “he doesn’t look _that_ much like Simmons, Clyde. And seriously, what have you been saying about Jaxon? He’s not some crazy psycho!” 

“I did see him,” Craig says, “and I wouldn’t go _that_ far, but he was…over-friendly.”

“Right, right!” Clyde nods. “Sorry, Tweekie, but I had to tell them about what I witnessed last Wednesday. The guy was all, _this is soooooo good_ , licking his fingers when he finished off one of Tweek’s brownies, and then the disgusting fucker slides a $5 tip into his apron like Tweek’s some sort of baked goods prostitute,” the other boys have clearly heard Clyde’s rant before, but Tweek’s flushing red at the implication, interrupting, “It-it wasn’t _exactly_ like that!”

Craig grips his soda can hard enough to leave dents, clearly not happy about it. Clyde isn’t finished yet though. “Then that other weekend, when I first got suspicious, I swear he was staring at Tweek’s ass when he was wiping up a spillage. He was pretending to be typing on his laptop, but I was sat at the table opposite and his eyes were _not_ focussed on his screen. I’m telling you guys, he’s definitely a pervert and Tweek’s his target.”

Tweek stands up then, embarrassed that the guys think he’s some sort of victim, and honestly feeling pity for Jaxon, having his friends and Craig think so lowly of him. “I’ll admit he likes my baking, but he’s never been anything but polite and courteous. I-I, em, I-”

Tweek’s hands automatically reach up to grab his hair. Usually Craig will gently take hold of his hands, olive-toned thumbs rubbing gently into Tweek’s pasty palms and wordlessly encouraging him to let go and leave his poor scalp alone. This time, Clyde pulls him to his chest, their faces only inches apart. Clyde has the edge, about two inches taller, but it’s been a private competition between the two of them since fourth grade. Tweek started taller, and until fifth grade it seemed like he was going to win, then Clyde’s Dutch genes kicked in and they were the same height until last summer’s little growth spurt finally hit and Clyde wasn’t the shortest in their group anymore.

“I…told him he didn’t need to leave anything – after college fees he barely has enough to eat, let alone tip – but he insisted, and he wanted to make sure it was just for me, you know, and my hands were full, so,” Tweek takes a deep breath, heart racing through his temples and behind his eyelids, “so I said he could put it in my apron. Th-that’s all.”

“But his voice!” Clyde argues, “the first time I heard him it was all weird and deep and _sultry_ when he talked about the chocolate hit. I mean, my lemon bars are _freaking_ awesome, but no-one’s practically jizzing over them.”

“Did he really sound like that?” Token asks, and he sounds genuinely a little concerned. “It _is_ a bit odd.”

“Y-yeah,” Jimmy agrees, “you don’t sweet talk for _sweets_.”

 _Oh my God, oh my God, what if Clyde’s right?_ The first threads of icy panic trickle up Tweek’s spine. He looks around for his empty thermos, abandoned so he could greet Jimmy; he’s dangerously close to panic shouting _I need coffee!_ The boys all look so serious. _Am I so stupid? So unaware? I never noticed. He’s not even as deep as Craig, only that one time when-_

“Wait a minute,” Tweek cocks his head like a lovingly confused spaniel, “which day _was_ that?”

“When Toke and Craig had their practice match with North Park,” Clyde thinks back, “so two weeks ago?”

Tweek lets loose a high-pitched little giggle, reminding Craig of Stripe #5 when he’s happy, and throws his arms around Clyde for a quick hug – Craig tries _really_ hard to not be jealous of the guys, knowing Tweek’s clinginess is purely platonic with them – before poking a finger into Clyde’s chest.

“Jaxon,” another poke, “had a cold that weekend!” He laughs again, finally taking his place between Craig and Token on the sofa. “Seriously, don’t scare me, man.” Craig’s arm wraps around Tweek’s middle as he snuggles against his side. “Take your hat off?” Tweek asks softly, the only who can ask that without getting the finger or told, in all seriousness, to _fuck off_. With his free hand, Craig obliges, his soft, thick hair flattened by the constant wear of his beloved chullo but – and Jimmy says it’s yet another unsolved South Park mystery – it’s never greasy. Tweek _loves_ his hair, always trying to gently encourage him to remove the hat so he can run his fingers through it. 

The atmosphere is suddenly a lot lighter, and Token and Jimmy seem a little less worried. Clyde’s still frowning though. He goes to his beat-up duffel and pulls out a small, pink spray bottle with a flip-top lid. “I was going to give you this,” Clyde passes it to Tweek but it’s Craig who takes it.

“Dude,” Craig turns the bottle around in his palm, “is this _mace_?” 

The pepper spray even has a built-in keychain. Clyde looks a little proud of himself. “Yeah, Dad bought a box of ‘em after Mercedes said she didn’t feel safe walking home alone. I figured it would give Tweek peace of mind to have this in his pocket. Just in case.”

Tweek’s never used it before, but he’s seen what mace does to people. The rib-shattering coughing, eyes stinging and watering and skin burning like you’ve been thrown into a bonfire, fingers scratching deep enough to leave angry, red marks. It reminds him of an attack he’d had on the school bus once, how he’d repeated _I’m ok I’m ok I’m ok_ but he couldn’t find his center; he couldn’t breathe, straining as if smoke had entered his lungs and was flushing out his very soul. He’d got off three stops early, collapsed into a nearby alleyway out of sight of all the judging looks; tears in his eyes, heart pounding and no coffee in his thermos. Craig and the boys came out of school to find him and calm him down. Anxiety sucks balls. Tweek isn’t against slugging someone for a highly inappropriate comment, slander against his folks or in self-defence, but could he _really_ give someone a pseudo anxiety attack experience, knowing how shit he felt after them?

“Oh Jesus, I need to text Mom,” Tweek suddenly remembers, wiggling out of Craig’s light hold to locate his dumped duffel bag. “She’ll probably think it’s a good idea, but I dunno…”

“Well, it doesn’t cause any permanent damage, and it’s a lot less violent than a punch up,” Clyde says, “and you don’t _have_ to use it. But like, in a three against one scenario, it gives you a serious advantage.”

“Wait _three_ against one? Why three?” Tweek panics, finding his phone, but his fingers are trembling too much for him to type out a message. He fumbles and drops it, the phone bouncing off of its big, rubber case and landing heavily at Token’s feet.

“Well, if the m-m-mace doesn’t stop ‘em, Tweek’s got Plan B,” Jimmy jokes, pointing dramatically at the fallen phone, which fortunately landed face up, “and you know how much I respect P-P-Plan B.”

Token picks it up and passes it back to the shaky blond. “Yeah, by South Park standards, mace is a pretty safe choice,” he adds, “but only for extreme situations.”

“N-n-not sure this Jaxon fellow falls into that ca-category,” Jimmy shrugs, “he might just be awkwardly shy?”

“Well, that’s what we’re going to find out,” Clyde says, taking Tweek’s vacated space between Token and Craig on the couch.

“Hmm?” Tweek hits ‘send’ on his short message to Mom and realises the other boys are all staring at him with a mixture of determination and eagerness, “Ok, now you’re freaking me out. Craig, what’s going on?”

“Honey, it’s your first ‘I Can Chat’ meeting next Saturday, right?” 

Tweek nods, not catching on. The Tweak’s ‘I Can Chat’ all-day event is based on an incentive Dad heard about at a business meeting. It’s designed to help tackle loneliness and encourage conversations in coffee shops. They’re trying it out for the first time in a week and Mom’s been pretty excited about it. Tweek’s happy she has something to focus on. She’s designed their ‘I Can Chat’ stickers which have already been printed and Dad has prepared a special drinks menu. 

“We’re planning to come and support it,” Craig continues, “and chat to some of the customers, of-course.”

“One customer in particular,” Clyde waggles his bushy eyebrows, “one-to-one.”

Tweek jumps. _Jaxon. They’re going to grill him!_ “Wait a minute!”

“We can co-co-col, we can work together,” Jimmy nods, “suss him out without him suspecting anything.”

“Guys, seriously?” Tweek groans, “now I really _do_ need a coffee. You better not say or do anything – gah – offensive or embarrassing. Please?”

“’Course not, Tweekie,” Clyde says, though it’s not very reassuring when they’re all grinning wickedly, and Tweek suspects they’ve been planning this out ever since he told Craig about the event. “We’re just going to talk, not interrogate. See what he thinks of you. It’s to…protect your honor, man! Think of us as your little protection squad!”

Tweek twitches twice, feeling it down to his toes. He feels warm and fuzzy, like he’s waking up from a dream, but it’s not the same detached and sluggish sensation he gets from the pills; it’s a homely, comfortable, _grounded_ kind of feeling. These crazy, wonderful boys are looking out for him. They care. And he’ll _always_ love them for that. So, what’s the harm in letting them carry out their plan? They’ll chat with Jaxon, realize he’s a good guy, then they can all move on.

“Well…happy detecting then, protection squad,” he grins, walking over to take the small pink bottle out of Craig’s hand. “I can only – gnk – pay you in baked goods, but I look forward to hearing all about your _investigation_.” He tosses and catches it a few times before pocketing it, feeling it clunk against his Xanax. “Thanks for this, Clyde. Who knows, it might come in handy?”

_And so he’s armed with a brick and mace._


	5. find your words

A week passes in the blink of an eye. The coffee shop has been transformed. The “I Can Chat” banners are up, courtesy of Craig and Mr Donovan, with Dad’s neat calligraphy colored in by Mom. They’ve brought the spare chairs down from the attic to fit comfortably around their six round tables and a line in front of the counter. The tables themselves are dressed; on each one there’s a bowl of free nibbles and a “find your words” cup filled with Mom’s hand written conversation starters (Dad really wanted to write them but was outvoted by 4-1 in Mom’s favour since his questions didn’t really go anywhere). She’s artfully folded them up like paper fortune cookies with their Tweek Coffee logo printed on top. It’s a thoughtful ice breaker for people to dip into if required. Some customers – and the lovely Mrs Bannerman comes to mind – probably won’t need to use them.

 _Pretty sure the guys won’t either,_ Tweek thinks, trying and failing to repress a nervous shudder.

He feels a bit guilty that he isn’t able to appreciate the shop in all its decorated glory. Instead, he’s fixated on the clock, counting down the minutes until they open the door. Mr Donovan’s blowing up the last of the balloons for Mom to add decals of slogans or their Tweak Coffee logo onto. Clyde’s polishing the counter, sleeves rolled above his elbows to show off his forearms. Dad’s filling Red Fred with the specialty blend of the day: _Speak with a Tweak_. It’s cringeworthy, sure, but Dad seems really proud of this one.

“There’s the last one,” Mr Donovan says proudly, passing the lime balloon on to Mom. He’s ditched the white shirt and woollen blazer for a slim fit pinstripe shirt. “Twenty balloons. _Twenty!_ Now that’s more than I’d ever be able to do before switching things up,” he adds proudly.

The Donovans have been fairly vocal about their improved fitness routine. Ever since Clyde found his dad’s old stash of fitness DVDs in the attic, they’ve been working out together: A morning of Richard Simmons’ _Sweatin’ to the Oldies_ followed by a brisk jog around Stark’s Pond. An evening of cardio and stretches.

Tweek feels exhausted just thinking about it. He’s a good runner with decent stamina, but Tweek’s not all that bothered about sports. Neither is Craig, despite his height and build. He’s only on the basketball team with Token because the coach wants him on the bench. Craig’s admittedly rubbish at basketball and would refuse to play if asked – he has an image to uphold, dammit – but the coach likes him there to intimidate the opposing team. To force them to make judgements about their players. If a guy like _Craig_ is sat on the bench, how freaking good must the regulars be? Honestly, Craig enjoys the ego boost, and it’s cool to watch Token kick ass.

Clyde’s just a teensy bit jealous that his friends are always considered to be the fit, sporty ones. Although he’s more interested in fitness training than in sports, he’s grown used to being picked next to last for Phys Ed games. The guys always make sure he’s on their team – and when Craig’s the leader, of course he’s picking Tweek first, then Token, Jimmy and Clyde – but it hurts to be judged by your body type. Tweek knows it’s because he’s never really been able to get over his label as the second fattest kid in the school.

Clyde doesn’t let it show, though. He’s always putting on a positive, happy face. He was a sensitive child, and even though he still tears up at the most unexpected times, Tweek loves his inner strength to keep on going and his genuine caring nature. Clyde goes out of his way to look out for his friends and family. He’s a good guy. He’d been the first to volunteer to join Craig and Tweek to help out at the coffee shop.

“It’s too much for us all to be there at the start. Don’t want the guy getting suspicious,” Clyde had said as the gang discussed “the plan” out of Tweek’s earshot one last time.

Mr Donovan had been a little reluctant to come initially, having to close the shoe shop for the morning, but Dad had managed to rope him into helping with the set-up as well as supporting the event. They found he was more than happy to do so after Dad had promised that there’d be a single, chatty lady attending. Which isn’t a _lie_ per se, but Dad had neglected to add that she’s almost seventy and adores cats (and Mr Donovan’s both allergic and a dog-lover). Still, Clyde’s happy that his dad’s feeling confident enough to go out and start meeting people. He’s even recently asked his son for permission to attend an over 40 single’s event over in North Park next month. The Tweak’s coffee and chat event will be good practice for him.

This event will hopefully encourage people to come together again. Tweek’s proud of his parents for using the coffee shop as a safe space for lonely, isolated and vulnerable people. Mom worries about the elderly recluses and sensitive widows and widowers who pass through their doors for a coffee from time to time. Some people are just looking for a little human interaction and attention for a while before going back to their dull and tedious lives. The event focusses on the positives of taking the time to get to know a stranger; of knowing that you could make their day with a simple conversation.

Mom’s noticed that Mrs Bannerman always leaves their coffee shop in a livelier, happier mood when she’s managed to talk someone’s ear off. That release. The feeling of getting something off your chest; of having someone who doesn’t know you – or judge you – just _listening_. Tweek thinks it’s pretty priceless. God knows how many times Craig has done that for him? Dad, however, seems more motivated by the idea that _more_ people talking _more_ frequently will lead to drier throats, and therefore, according to his chart, higher drinks sales. It hasn’t escaped Tweek that his parents seem to be more worried than usual about making a profit. He wonders if they’re in trouble?

“ _Nggh_ ,” Tweek’s full body twitches, his thoughts beginning to jumble and clash against each other, _bang bang bang_ , like a hammer on a nail. He feels the hand holding his own squeeze tightly. “Craig?”

“Talk to me, honey,” his voice is soft and encouraging. He’s trying to get Tweek out of his head, to keep him from being smothered by the thoughts and the voices all competing to be heard and panicked about.

“Craig…what if this is a bad idea? What if people don’t _want_ to talk? Will this really help? What if we need this to work because if it fails, we’ll have to close the shop and then Dad will stop joking and really _will_ need to sell me into slavery. Oh God, oh Jesus-”

“Honey, breath,” Craig tugs Tweek closer, their hands still clasped together, palms sweaty and Tweek’s fingers still vibrating with short spasms.

 _And then there’s Jaxon,_ Tweek panics, unaware that he’s still babbling out loud, “What if we cause him trouble, what if he hates me? He-he might not even come in today, then you’ll have all wasted your time and your planning and, oh man, what if Clyde’s right and he’s actually some sort of psycho with a chocolate brownie addiction? Jesus…What if-”

“Babe?”

“What if this is all some huge mistake and then he leaves a bad review about the shop and sues us for slander, then we’re forced to close. We won’t have any money. We won’t have any _coffee_ -”

“Honey…”

“And then you’ll leave me, Craig, and that’s even worse. I’m an even bigger mess without you, so the guys will leave me too and I’ll be-”

“Tweek!” Craig pulls Tweek sideways and onto his lap. “Babe, one thought at a time, remember,” he presses a soft kiss against Tweek’s temple, long arms encircling his shivering frame. “Pick one. I’m here, I’m listening.”

Tweek relaxes against Craig’s chest, listening to the comforting rhythm of Craig’s heart thumping beneath his ear. The thoughts whizz down his mental highways like F1 cars around a track. He tries to visualise them like the cars from Red Racer; something Craig had helped him to come up with based on his therapist’s suggestion: slowing down a thought by visualising it as something he can control. Parking it like a car. Concentrating on one thing at a time. He exhales slowly, Craig patiently waiting with his chin resting on top of Tweek’s head.

“If Jaxon,” Tweek starts, threading his fingers with Craig’s and resting their hands on his lap, “if he doesn’t come in today, because he comes here to work you know, and not…talk. Will you still confront him later?”

Tweek feels Craig’s lips pressing butterfly kisses to his flyaway hair, so gentle it causes a lump in his throat. He swallows greedily, as if he’s able to swallow the feeling and have it spread through his body, his veins, his heart.

“For peace of mind,” Craig finally says, “it would be good to talk to him. Clear up any confusion. Make it clear to him that…you have a boyfriend,” Craig drops his head to Tweek’s ear, cheeks unnaturally flushed, to whisper, “who loves you more than anything.”

Tweek’s breath hitches and he squeezes Craig’s hand just a little _too_ tight. But it’s fine. It’s _way_ better than fine. It took them a year together before they could say that word, dancing around with _like, like_ and _you’re cool, we’re…cool_. Ever since their fight, something has drawn Tweek to Craig like a moth to a flame. They had an instant connection and didn’t need a label to define them. It was as simple as: Craig’s Tweek and Tweek’s Craig.

“And he’s loved back,” Tweek adds, raising his head to meet Craig’s eyes, deep ocean pools shining bright like the galaxies he adores so much. Like they’re full of twinkling stars. _You know, honey, stars don’t actually twinkle._ They’re so close Tweek can feel Craig’s breath tickling the hairs up his nose. “You know,” he shifts a little in Craig’s lap, his free hand dipping into his apron pocket, “we’re just in the right position for-”

Craig dips his head in a barely noticeable nod, a flash of pink tongue nervously swiping across his bottom lip, but Tweek knows they’re on the same page, confirmed when Craig adds, “for a photo, right?” 

Tweek giggles softly, his phone successfully extracted, and snuggles close to Craig’s chest. They raise their perpetually joined hands and Craig rests his head against Tweek’s, just about in the frame, though the pom pom on his chullo is cut out.

“Put that on _our_ Coonstagram,” Craig says, as Tweek adds little sparkles and hearts around them and messes around with the lighting until they look even _warmer_ and _softer_.

Tweek’s pleased with how it came out, even with the mediocre lighting and his strange smile. Craig’s pressing a kiss to Tweek’s head, wisps of blond hair poking his cheek. Tweek’s eyes are closed, not through a twitch or a moment of panic, but because he’s happy. They look relaxed and comfortable, with no way of telling that Tweek was drowning in a sea of panic only minutes before. Together, they look strong. Content. Devoted. They’re not looking at each other but they’re existing as if it’s just the two of them, even when Mom, Dad, Clyde and Mr Donovan are bustling around them. They look like a couple _in love_.

It’s something Tweek aches to see when he looks through his phone’s photo album. Recently they’ve just been posting pics of Stripe looking adorable (which according to Craig is _always_ ) on their joint account, along the odd snap of Tweek’s latte art. The Asian girls miss seeing the pair taking silly photobooth style selfies, and Tweek honestly misses it too.

“Date night’s over, lovebirds,” Clyde interrupts in a perfectly mocking tone of Cartman, “I’ve got eyes on the target.”

Sure enough, there’s a steady queue forming outside Tweak Bros, and at the back is Jaxon, this time without his laptop bag.

Clyde shoots a quick text to Jimmy and Token. Craig gives Tweek one last squeeze before helping him to his feet. “Knew he’d show,” he says, schooling his face back to his usual impassive, I-don’t-give-a-shit-I’m-Craig-Tucker expression.

“Guys,” Tweek swallows around the lump in his throat, “remember what we promised, okay?” He’s less nervous now, more curious really.

Something has made Clyde – a guy who famously has a soft spot for everyone, even _Cartman_ – distrust Jaxon. Tweek would feel better knowing the reason. If they don’t talk it out now, Clyde will probably start harping on about self defence classes again, and Craig will continue to be weirdly jealous (Tweek feels a little guilty about liking a jealous Craig; not a totally jealous one, just one with enough envy to start showing off about their relationship. Tweek goes embarrassingly weak at the knees when Craig overdoes it with the affection).

“Everybody ready?” Dad asks from behind the counter. Mom’s straightening out her apron, wanting to look more put together for the event to make the best impression. Her outfit’s the same but she’s wearing more make up today; her long eyelashes are thicker and darker than usual, and her lips are a shade darker.

There’s a chorus of _yes, yeah, hella YES_ , then Mr Donovan has the honor of unlocking the door. The townsfolk burst in, excited for their caffeine fix with half price treats and free nibbles.

Tweek recognises a few of the faces. There’s Stan father, wearing one of his old Tegridy Farms plaid shirts, clearly in the mood to reminisce about his failed weed business. Mrs Bannerman totters in behind him, and Mr Fellows behind her. There’s Wendy’s mom, Butters’ dad and Jaxon bringing up their rear. A few new faces also join the crowd. Seats are occupied, orders are taken, snacks are nibbled and Tweek is swept up in the hubbub.

“Sweetie,” Mom steps behind him, a gentle smile on her face, “let’s do our best today.”

“Sure thing, Mom,” Tweek nods, feeling the buzz of having a packed-out coffee shop. Red Fred and Black Jack hum and vibrate in synch as Dad hurries back and forth to fulfil all the orders.

“I better help your father. Please can you grab some more take-out boxes from the back? I think we’ll be needing more than I thought!”

As Mom takes her position beside Black Jack, Tweek hurries into the back room. Before the door closes behind him, he tries to spy Craig. He’s meant to be the first one talking to Jaxon. The crowd’s too thick for Tweek to spot him, even with Craig’s impressive height for his age, but Jaxon’s still in the drinks queue. He offers him a small wave, eye twitching as it’s returned with a warm smile.

 _Stop worrying and start helping!_ Tweek scolds himself, heading towards the large shelving unit on the back wall. He scans the top shelves where Dad usually leaves the take-out boxes, but they’re not there. It’s messier than usual after buying supplies in for the event. Tweek ducks to scan the lower shelves. Still nothing.

Maybe they haven’t been unpacked yet? They’ve been so busy sorting out the essentials that there’s still a couple of boxes piled up by the door to go through. The first one has a sticker on specifying that it’s cups and lids. _Dammit._ The second box is unmarked. Tweek pulls off the tape in one satisfying strip and opens the flaps. _Bingo!_

He leans over to pick up the first flat pack of take-out boxes when, out of nowhere, a hand clamps down heavily onto his right shoulder. He stumbles under the weight of it, almost falling forward into the box.

Then he screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to give a shout out and huge thanks to Thistlepaw for answering my question re: using Tweek Bros or Tweak Bros. The second option did make more sense with it being their official surname, but I kept editing it to Tweek Bros due to confusion with older eps and TSoT game. I'm sorry about that. I've now edited all the name references back to Tweak Bros!
> 
> Thanks again for reading :)


	6. all connected, like they're a human Transformer

“Jesus, fuck, Tweek! It’s just me, man,” the would-be attacker sounds familiar. It’s too late for Tweek to pull back from the punch he throws, a harsh _slap_ echoing across the room as Tweek’s fist smacks against the intruder’s open palm.

“Kenny?!” Tweek pulls his arm back, the adrenaline high quickly falling when he realizes he’s lashed out at a friend. “What are you doing back here? I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

Kenny looks at his reddening palm and whistles through his teeth, “You got me good there,” he sounds impressed, “my fault for sneaking up on ya.”

“Still, I shouldn’t have done that. I’ve been a bit…on edge, lately,” Tweek sighs, ashamed of himself for thinking it might have been Jaxon sneaking up on him. _I’m getting as bad as the guys. Stupid paranoia._

“Oh? Tweek Tweak…on edge…? Who’d have thought it?” Kenny teases, slinging a parker-covered arm around Tweek’s shoulders. “Glad to know you’re still fine without that over-sized guard dog,” he adds with a smirk. Craig hates it when Kenny calls him that. “It’s a good thing I always protect this face at all costs.”

Tweek doesn’t have a shred of guilt as he shakes off Kenny’s arm, reaching up to grab at his cheeks and giving them both a good pinch. “Yeah, yeah, you’re not _that_ bad on the eyes,” he sniggers, “wouldn’t want to ruin that pretty face!” Although Tweek’s joking, it isn’t that much of an exaggeration. Kenny’s probably one of the best-looking guys at school and although he’s well aware of his good looks and likes to flaunt it, he’s actually a fairly modest guy most of the time.

“Shop looks cool by the way. Sorry I don’t have time to hang around,” Kenny genuinely seems disappointed. “Maybe next time?”

Tweek shakes his head, “Thanks, it’s fine. I know you can’t afford to miss a shift right now,” Tweek’s always admired Kenny’s work ethic and their early childhood responsibilities have been common ground that’s kept them in a comfortable friendship. “I was just grabbing some take-out boxes. Want to choose some treats for later?”

Kenny picks at a loose orange thread at the end of his slightly too short sleeve. “Umm, I haven’t had my pay-”

Tweek interrupts with a lazy hand wave, reaching into the opened box to finally get the take-out boxes Mom asked for. “It’s on the house. I baked some _gnk_ chocolate cupcakes last night. Think Karen would like one?”

There’s a high-pitched squeak of well-worn sneakers sliding against the floor, then Kenny’s throwing his arms around Tweek, “You’re too kind, man. Craig’s a lucky son of a bitch.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Tweek wriggles out of the hold and gets his phone out of his apron pocket, “but _I’m_ the real lucky one. Look at this,” he shows Kenny their recent photo.

There’s already a collection of likes, heart eyes emojis and comments written in Korean and Japanese that he’s honestly glad he can’t understand. Kenny shakes his head with a smile. “Looking cute, Tweekers. That bitch is whipped.”

“A dog _and_ a bitch,” Tweek tuts, trying to be as deadpan as a Tucker but his eyes are just a smidge too wide; too gentle, “He _would_ be impressed that you’ve expanded on your canine insults. Nobody’s whipped, man, he’s just been a bit more protective lately.”

“I see what I see,” Kenny shrugs, “seriously though, you guys are fluffier and cheesier than the contents of Cartman’s snack cupboards.”

“That’s a high compliment if ever I’ve heard one,” Tweek laughs, “c’mon, I’m supposed to be pulling my weight out there.”

Just as Tweek opens the door a crack, Kenny shoots an arm out past Tweek’s head and pushes it shut again.

“K-Kenny? I really have to get back to work.”

There’s a pause, then Kenny scratches at his chin with his free hand. “You know, it’s empty back at mine tonight. What would you say to letting me take you back later and…tying you up? See, I’ve…acquired some top-quality rope-”

“The hell? What is _wrong_ with you?” Tweek interrupts with a frown, knocking the taller blond’s hand away from the door. “Keep me _nngh_ out of your kinky shit, Kenny.”

As expected, Kenny’s unphased and simply waggles his perfectly shaped eyebrows, “Your loss!”

Tweek channels his inner Craig and flips him off, opening the door again to see the coffee shop still packed and _thank goodness_ people actually talking. Mrs Bannerman’s rolling her eyes at her table mate Randy Marsh, who’s waving his arms about like an inflatable advertising air tube puppet. Craig’s sat opposite Jaxon at the two-seater table nearest the window. _Wish I could hear what they were saying,_ Tweek thinks, trying and failing to read their body language from the opposite side of the shop.

“Nah, you can relax Tweekie,” Kenny says, and Tweek jumps a little, so embarrassingly entranced in staring at Craig and Jaxon. “Unless you’re hiding some flat tits under that shirt, your chastity is safe.”

Tweek sighs heavily. It’s easy to forget Kenny’s a huge pervert, even with a heart of gold, until he starts saying something crass. Mom says he’s probably used to using such language growing up in the McCormick household and shouldn’t rise to any bait.

He feels Dad’s eyes on him as he selects four different treats for Kenny to take home. It’s as if he knows that Tweek has been five minutes too long in the back room, and to add insult to injury, he’s now giving away more free food. Good job Dad’s too busy behind Red Fred to give him some sort of lecture.

“You’re always on such high alert, Tweek. I could do with borrowing that suspicious nature of yours. I was just thinking of practicing different escape techniques, in case Cartman’s plan goes to shit. Which it will…so, I want to cover all bases, you know?”

“Not really?” Tweek passes Kenny the take-out box. “What sort of plan is it this time? Wait…don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Just don’t get yourself killed.”

Kenny makes a strange noise at that, an oddly sad smile gracing his gentle features. “Mmm. No promises. Thanks for treats. I owe you, man.”

“I’ll add it to your favor tab,” Tweek grins, patting Kenny’s back, “don’t be late to work, dude.”

“Don’t get sold into slavery!” Kenny responds, like it’s their own strange version of _see you later, alligator; in a while, crocodile._

He’s out of the door with a cheeky grin and a wave and Tweek’s thrust back into action; re-filling milk jugs, wiping up spillages, delivering another wave of orders and glancing every so often at Jaxon’s table. Clyde’s sat there already and Craig’s moved to one of the chairs by the counter, steadily sipping on a hot chocolate.

Before Tweek can step over there, Mom’s pulling him to the side. “Everything okay with the McCormick boy?” She asks gently, voice wobbling only slightly. She seems worried and lowers her soft voice to barely a whisper. “Don’t let your father give you any of the special blend today, okay sweetie?”

“That bad, huh?” Tweek jokes, but he doesn’t have Jimmy’s power to liven the atmosphere. Mom doesn’t even crack a smile. “Hey, I tried enough of it last week. I’ll stick to the daily blend, promise. And Kenny’s…Kenny. He’s doing his best. I wish I could do more for him and Karen though.”

Mom looks a little brighter at that. “You’re such a good boy, Tweek,” she ruffles his hair like he’s a small child again. “Sometimes, I wonder: Do we deserve you?”

Tweek slowly wraps Mom in a hug. She’s obviously feeling a bit overwhelmed with the attendance and apparent success of the ‘I Can Chat’ event. Sometimes, she’ll say things like this that make Tweek feel guilty, but he’ll never let her know that. It’s _his_ fault, after all. His parents have sacrificed so much and Tweek still isn’t able to show them the gratitude they deserve. _More like I don’t deserve them,_ Tweek thinks as he twitches in Mom’s arms.

 _You don’t deserve Craig, Tricia, the Tuckers, the guys…any of it, do you?_ His mind taunts. _But you keep taking the pills. You keep talking to the therapist and to Craig. You keep sharing all the good bits and the progress. But you never mention this, Tweek. Your real voice. That’s our little secret. You’re so afraid they’ll see you for who you really are._

“Gnk, stop it,” Tweek grits his teeth, arms tensing in the hug.

Mom notices, “Tweek? Didn’t catch that, sweetie,” she lets him go. Her smile’s back, so Tweek tries to copy it, forcing his lips into some sort of ugly grimace.

“It’s n-nothing, really. Do I have time to catch up with Craig?”

Mom scans the shop. Every table is full and the occupants are all deep in conversation. Cakes have been served, nibbles replaced and drinks refilled. Mom’s added water jugs to each table despite Dad’s protests. There’s a lovely hive of activity that the shop rarely gets outside of any festivities.

Dad’s wiping down the coffee machines, whispering to Fred as he goes. Mr Donovan is sat with Wendy’s mom, possibly asking for her opinion on good conversational topics to have with a female companion. Butters’ dad seems to have disappeared. Mr Fellows is talking to Jimmy.

_Jimmy!_

Tweek hadn’t even realised that the rest of the gang had come into the shop. He finally spies Token sitting with Craig at the counter whilst Clyde still faces Jaxon.

“Go on, then,” Mom grins, “it’s a lot calmer now. And I know you’re dying to know what he’s been asking.”

Tweek doesn’t need telling twice. He almost runs to the end of the counter. Token’s fancy man bag hangs on the back of the chair in between the two of them, keeping it free. Tweek plants himself onto it pronto.

Craig’s finished his hot chocolate, so Tweek grabs at his arm, “How did it go?!”

“Whoa, Tweek, take it easy,” Token laughs, “though I gotta admit, I’m all ears, too.”

Craig’s arm slides around Tweek’s waist and he takes a breath. He seems somewhat disappointed. “Honey, I…Clyde may have overreacted a bit.”

“Go on?” Tweek smiles, hearing that as _you were right!_ “What did you ask him?”

“Did you stick to the plan?” Token adds curiously.

Craig stares down at his empty mug of hot chocolate. “I asked if he knew any Asian girls,” he starts. Token’s nodding along, as if this was part of some secret script that Tweek doesn’t have access to, and since Jimmy was involved in all this, that’s probably not far from the truth, “and he said no.”

“That’s understandable,” Token says, “did you ask him about _black_ girls?”

“Why would I?” Craig turns to Token with an eyebrow raised in a non-vocalised _seriously?_ “Nichole wasn’t involved in the shipping until afterwards. I had to make sure he understood just how visibly we were outed by the Asian girls back then. How important we were to the town.”

“God, Craig, how much did you tell him?” Tweek hopes it wasn’t anything embarrassing. How will he ever face Jaxon again?! “ _Please_ tell me you left out the fake break up and cheating accusation?”

Tweek still feels awful about that. Sure, it felt good at first, to know that Craig believed in him. The boy who had his heart broken and told Craig _he had spikes_ was not Tweek Tweak. He was merely a character brought to life by Tweek’s impressive acting ability. An ability that, at that time, Tweek had no idea about. It was all thanks to Craig that Tweek was able to pull it off.

The hardest part had been watching the outcome of their fake argument on Craig. Despite the town rejoicing in happiness that the pair had quickly reconciled and got back together, for a few weeks after the event, Craig was still on the receiving end of judging eyes and whispered taunts. _Cheater!_ They’d chant, and Tweek felt absolutely rotten. It was all his fault. It didn’t help that Wendy kept rallying for support and texting him daily to make sure he knew that if Craig _betrayed_ him _again_ then he’d have the whole school behind him. She grew close to Tweek and so he came clean. He’d prepared himself for an onslaught of reasons why that was a completely shitty thing to do, but Wendy simply took a deep breath, took his hands into hers and said, in all seriousness, _“Tweek, please audition for a speaking role in next semester’s play!”_

Craig squeezes his hand, wordlessly bringing Tweek back into the present. “He kinda understands the feeling of being pressured into being something you’re not, even if you’re lying to yourself,” the _like we were_ between Tweek and Craig goes unspoken, but the look they give each other, the shy little smiles, it says it all really. “He told me about Jay, how he’s always trying to catch up to him.”

Tweek nods, the name familiar, “His brother,” he adds for Token’s sake.

“He’s still close with an ex- _girlfriend_ and she’s been the one to tell him to live his own life,” Craig feels a bit smug to have found out about Jaxon’s former female partner without actually asking directly. “I think he’s struggling though. Under his parents’ expectations and college and shit.”

The trio share a _glad we’re not there yet_ sigh. “So, nothing about Tweek then?” Token asks, unsure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Craig’s smirking now and Tweek shivers in apprehension.

“Gah! Craig, what was it? Was it bad? Does he actually hate me?!”

“Not at all, honey. I let him ask questions too, you know, so it wasn’t one-sided. Told him about Tricia. A little bit about my own crazy fucking parents,” Craig shakes his head. His father had been texting him all morning, asking him about acceptable commission rates from various fan clubs. Goddammit. “He said I must be glad to have you by my side. How supportive and kind-hearted you are. He knows you’re in a committed relationship, babe. In fact, he started telling me this story from Mrs Bannerman-”

At the name Tweek groans, dropping his head to the table, “Spare me, Craig,” he whimpers as he tries to remember at least one _non-embarrassing_ story from their chatty regular. “I’m sure Jimmy and Clyde would like to hear it later anyway.”

“You called?” Clyde sing-songs from behind them, and if it wasn’t for Craig’s arm around his waist, Tweek would probably have fallen off his chair. “Well, Tweekie, mission accomplished. You can take it easy now,” Clyde nestles his head on top of Tweek’s golden bird nest, ignoring the look Craig sends his way.

Token threads his arm through Tweek’s to keep them all connected, like they’re a human Transformer powered up by each person’s strength. “Cheer up, Tweek,” he grins, “I’m sure he used both of his brain cells to defend your honor!”

Clyde laughs deep from his belly, “I sure did!”

“You’re an idiot,” Craig huffs.

“But you’re _our_ idiot.” Tweek continues, the pair exchanging a fond smile.

“Jimmy’s up next,” Clyde confirms, “he’s got a few winners. And the Simmons’ wannabe likes to talk, so I’m sure the plan’ll work and Tweek won’t have to worry anymore.”

“For once I didn’t realize I _should_ be worrying,” Tweek admits, “Craig thinks Jaxon’s a good guy, though.”

“Oh, he’s cool,” Clyde nods, “I’ll fill you in when this is all over.”

“You look so proud of yourself,” Token says as Clyde throws one arm around his shoulders and the other around a slightly reluctant Craig. His chin is still buried in Tweek’s hair.

They must make an odd sight, Tweek thinks; a jumble of limbs, clothing styles and colors. He wonders for a split second if anyone’s watching them; judging them? _Who cares?_ He’s wearing a smile so wide it hurts. _Let them stare._ Craig’s hand is warm, long fingers entwined with his own. Clyde’s soft chin vibrates as he talks and laughs atop of his head, and Token’s strong arm presses him to his side; Tweek’s cheap shirt making out with Token’s expensive designer jacket. He’s wrapped up, _safe and sound_ , in between some of the most important people in his life, and right now, there’s nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author admission 1: I love Kenny. I like how there’s so many different versions of him here on ao3. Hope you enjoyed my take on him so far for this story! 
> 
> Author admission 2: I am so happy to have found so many sp creek fanfics to enjoy. The “problem” is that there’s so many, ha ha! Sometimes, it’s just so nice to lose yourself in someone else’s words for a while (or hours, eek!) To prevent it from successfully taking over my free (and not so free) time, I’m having to “treat myself” to fanfic reading on/at certain days/times. This hopefully will help me to leave more reviews on works I’m reading and loving. I have some half-finished reviews to post on certain works already, as well as new chapters to read, and I’m starting to feel guilty about it. Does anyone else feel this way sometimes?? Still loving the fandom though! 😊 See you next chapter…
> 
> Chat with me on [Tumblr!](https://soft-craig-and-tweek.tumblr.com//)


	7. our little secret

Red Fred chugs out the last _Speak with a Tweak_ of the event in a cup to go for Jaxon. He’s survived all the questions and is still smiling when he bids Tweek farewell.

"Sorry about the guys,” Tweek bites his lip, “I hope they didn’t cause you any trouble? _Especially_ Clyde. He means well.”

Jaxon laughs, “No sweat, Tweek. Your friends adore you and it isn’t hard to see why. Though Clyde…he was really singing your praises and looks. Between you and me, I think he has a bro crush on you.”

“ _Gah,_ ” Tweek twitches, “Oh, well…thanks for letting me know,” he chuckles dryly whilst thinking _what exactly did Clyde say about me?_ “I’ll…I’ll have a word with him. And… Craig?”

Jaxon gives him a cheeky grin, his pearly whites glinting under the LED lights. He leans close and Tweek takes an involuntary step backwards. “S-sorry.” He whispers, immediately cross with himself for reacting, but Jaxon just shrugs.

“Craig made it very clear you guys are an item,” Jaxon says, mouth a bit too wide, a bit _too_ smiley. “He seemed to be warning me off, Tweek. Your friends are very protective, but not a patch on your _boyfriend_.”

Tweek nods, “We’ve been together for years. He’s my first – and hopefully _last_ – boyfriend. We get possessive of each other sometimes.”

“I’ll say,” Jaxon chuckles, “If I were Craig, I’d be two steps away from tying you up and never letting you out of my sight!”

It’s meant to be light-hearted, Tweek knows that. Jaxon even steps back, giving Tweek room to breathe. He thanks him for the coffee and takes his leave, but Tweek doesn’t move.

He thinks of Kenny tied up in a deep, dark basement with tape over his mouth, muffling his speech worse than his too tight parka; wrists red raw from rope burns whilst Cartman cackles like the batshit crazy psycho he is; home safe and stuffing himself with cheesy poofs.

Why would Jaxon make a joke like that? _Is_ there something dark behind that too-bright smile? _That’s it,_ his mind scolds, _think the worst. It isn’t a stretch for you. Jaxon would not hurt you or Craig, and even IF he tried, you wouldn’t let him._

“Damn right,” Tweek mutters, looking over at Craig and the others.

The guys are laughing and joking where he left them at the counter. Craig turns his head and locks eyes with him, waggling his finger in a come-hither motion. Tweek slaps both his cheeks, the sting a welcome distraction, before joining them.

“Well, that was a productive day,” Clyde laughs when Tweek re-joins Craig’s side.

“Yes, Clyde,” Dad nods at the other side of the counter, his hands on his hips, “Yes it was. Productive; like a day at the Amazon fulfilment center.”

Mom puts a hand on his arm, “Those were dark times, honey,” she says, “shall we get ready to close up?”

“Alright, I’ll wrap things up and you can shut down the boys. Tweek, you’re in charge of sweeping up,” Dad commands before addressing the remaining customers in his best public speaking voice. “Thank you, everyone, for supporting our event today and buying lots of Tweak coffee. The best coffee on the north east side-”

“Well, it’s the _only_ coffee house on the north east side,” Randy Marsh interjects, blissfully unaware of the dark looks sent his way.

“Oh, do put a sock in it,” Mrs Bannerman scolds and the Tweaks all share a grin.

“I’m afraid,” Dad continues, “we’ve reached the end and we hope you’re all going to take something away from today. Preferably something edible,” there’s a few laughs and eyerolls, but Tweek’s reminded just how good Dad is in front of crowds. Much better than him and Mom, “you know, my son’s gay. And he likes to bake,” there’s a few "awwwwwws" now, and Randy starts saying something about Whole Foods until Mrs Bannerman whacks his arm with her purse, “and we couldn’t be prouder of him. So, if you want to show some last-minute support for all our LGBT+ friends out there, we’ve still got a few muffins and brownies left…”

A few customers get to their feet to compliment Dad for being so _open_ and _supportive_ and Dad’s brilliant smile gets wider and wider as he fills up another six take-out boxes.

Tweek sends a garbled text to Kenny, asking him to let him know when he’s home safe. The image of him being left behind by Stan’s gang, bound by ropes and cursing Cartman’s selfish fat ass has him on edge. _Kenny’s tough but he’s only human,_ Tweek twitches, checking his phone even though only a couple of minutes have passed. _If he doesn’t write back tonight…_ He sends another text. _Be safe._

Tweek looks up and catches the eye of a customer he recognises but doesn’t know the name of. He’s a wiry man with rat-like features, thin lips and sparse eyebrows. He’s too weedy to be a thug, but he has a threatening vibe that makes Tweek wary. He’s a semi-regular but Dad never included him in the flashcards. He usually takes a coffee, but _only_ from Dad and _only_ their sunset blend.

He often has a brief word with Dad when he visits, and although Dad’s always happy to chat with a smile on his face, Tweek thinks the man makes Dad nervous. At first, Tweek assumed the dark-suited stranger was an employee from Harbucks or another coffee shop chain, coming in to spy on the Tweaks and maybe even trying to work out the identity of the _organic ingredients_ Dad prattles on about. 

But when he’d brought it up with Mom, she looked a little confused. A little guilty. “I don’t think it’s anyone we should worry about, sweetie,” she reassured him, but her eyes were lying. She refused to say anything else about it.

Tweek worries about a lot of things, and the family business is one of them. He knows they’ve suffered losses before and even closed the shop when Amazon came to South Park. This strange, suspicious man slips under Tweek’s radar because he barely stays for more than ten minutes on each visit. He only talks to Dad anyway, so why would he attend an event like this? He certainly doesn’t look the type of person to lend an ear to a vulnerable or lonely person.

The man sneers at Tweek, as if telling him to avert his gaze before he does it for him, and Tweek yelps and twitches, catching Craig’s attention.

“Babe? You okay?”

He rubs comforting circles on Tweek’s back, his full attention on his panicky boyfriend.

Tweek nods, not trusting his voice. He leans in to the touch and checks his phone again. Still no response from Kenny.

The customers slowly make their way out, some still conversing with new-found friends as they leave. The rat-like man weaves his way through them empty-handed. Mrs Bannerman makes sure some of the would-be lurkers exit in front of her, turning to wave at the Tweaks before the door finally closes and the coffee shop suddenly feels far too quiet.

“You need an extra pair of hands?” Token asks, scanning the shop and assessing the level of clean up required to turn Tweak Bro’s back into its usual sparse-yet-comfortable layout. “Mom won’t mind if we’re late back.”

Jimmy nods along, “I’ve been itching to do something productive today too, Tweek. Anything you need, just ask.”

“Thanks guys,” Tweek beams, “I’ll ask Mom.”

Soon, Jimmy’s on balloon popping duty, with Tweek jumping at the particularly loud bangs as he wipes down the chairs and tables. Token and Craig tackle the banner and window decorations whilst Clyde and Mr Donovan help Mom and Dad as they remove the extra chairs and put the tables back into their original positions.

Tweek’s on his fourth table when his phone vibrates several times. He pulls it out of his apron pocket. It isn’t Kenny; it’s Tricia.

_Tweek, how did it go?!_

_Class was fun but I’m still gutted I missed your event ☹_

_If Craig was a stupid asshat, I’ll beat him later for you xx_

He shoots a quick text back. _Good ty. Not too much pressure. Missed u but Craig behaved himself 😊 x_

Mom joins him looking tired but accomplished, and wraps her arm around his shoulder. “You were a star today, Tweek,” she compliments softly, even her voice sounding sleepy, “even with your own Jaxon drama. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Tweek grins, “can’t take all the credit though. Everyone really helped us out a lot.”

Mom nods. She’s offered the boys and Mr Donovan free drinks for the week in return for their support. It’s their little secret from Dad, since he’s been more than a bit concerned about money lately.

“Your father and I will cash up at home. We’re extending our evening session to an hour, so don’t worry about texting later. Try and relax, sweetie.”

“You too, Mom. I’ll lock up tonight, you look exhausted.” Tweek’s done the final closing tasks on his own plenty of times. He’s sure Craig will want to stay behind too, but it isn’t fair on the rest of the gang.

Mom bites her lip, but gives her ascent. “Okay, honey; don’t forget to lock up.”

Dad doesn’t question the decision, simply patting Tweek on the back, “and remember son, no matter how tired you are, you’re to sleep in your own bed tonight, _alriiiiight_?”

He waggles his eyebrows and shoots a glance at Craig.

“Got it, Dad.” Tweek rolls his eyes before being squished into a tight hug by both of his lovably insufferable parents. Dad’s soft burgundy sweater rubs against his cheek whilst Mom’s delicate perfume barely penetrates the aroma of their daily blend; the smell Tweek associates with her the most. He hugs back then watches as they give thanks and farewells to Mr Donovan and the boys.

“So,” Mr Donovan pulls his car keys out of his pocket. “Everybody ready?”

“Actually sir, I’m staying behind to finish up,” Tweek says, wringing his hands to fight the tremors in his fingers.

“Me too,” Craig adds, slowly pulling Tweek’s hands apart and taking them into his own, his thumbs rubbing comforting circles and calming the twitches, “we’ll make our own way over later. I’ll get my Dad to give us a lift.”

Instead of arguing to stay with them, Clyde looks excited. “Then we’ll make a start on the investigation board.”

 _Investigation board?_ Tweek cocks his head. _Jesus Christ!_

“S-s-sounds good,” Jimmy says, “catch you later, fellas.”

Token looks up from his phone and confirms, “It’s all ready and waiting for us. Guess we’ll see you guys later then.”

As soon as the others have left, Tweek turns to Craig. “Sooo…the investigation board?”

Craig shrugs, “Jimmy’s idea. Clyde hasn’t shut up about it all week.”

“He’s been watching too many cop shows,” Tweek sighs, “sorry for making you stay behind with me.” 

“You didn’t make me do anything honey. I volunteered.”

They share a grin as Tweek adds, “I believe we have a volunteer.”

“The sacrifices we make for love,” Craig laments without an ounce of malice, running his fingers down Tweek’s sides and hitting his waist in the spot that makes him flinch.

“ _Gah!_ C-Craig, not there!” Tweek squirms, caught between laughing and cringing, before finally grabbing hold of Craig’s hands and pulling them away. They have work to do, after all. “Right,” Tweek takes a calming breath and rolls up his sleeves. “Divide and conquer?”

They split the tasks fairly; Craig cleans out the fridge and wipes down the main counter one more time whilst Tweek mops the floors then hangs the mop up to dry. Tweek tackles the wasted products next, adding his chicken scratch notes under Dad’s neat writing in the nightly Waste Log before re-joining Craig at the counter.

Craig has a thoughtful expression on his face. He’s removed his beloved chullo and his hair is wonderfully mussed and sleek. His phone sits on top of the counter and he’s opened Pandora.

“Are you tired, honey?” He asks, and when Tweek shakes his head – honestly, he’s no more tired than usual, so he figures that’s the right answer – Craig looks oddly hopeful.

Craig taps on his phone and a piano solo starts playing. Tweek instantly recognizes the Marx song from Craig’s playlist and releases the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Tweek…if you’re willing…would you like to dance with me?” Craig holds out a steady hand towards Tweek, “You know I don’t dance, unless it’s with you.”

“Ok, I’ll try,” Tweek takes the hand, “Oh Jesus!”

Craig’s other hand rests firmly on his waist whilst he reaches up high to Craig’s shoulder.

At first their moves are stilted and mismatched. Tweek stands on Craig’s toes several times, and Craig accidentally backs them into a table. They’re not moving in time to the music but it doesn’t matter. The song’s beautiful and it always makes Tweek feel emotional, especially because it’s the one Tricia says they _have_ to play at their wedding someday.

Craig spins him and Tweek tries to return the favor, the pair giggling when Craig struggles to bend and spin with any elegance or grace.

_~ I’ve been waiting so long, nothing’s gonna tear us apart ~_

They travel around the coffee shop, swaying and spinning and laughing. Tweek’s so busy trying to focus on his steps and matching Craig that his usually intrusive thoughts are pushed far, far away. It’s all about being in the moment. Losing himself to the dance; to Craig’s admittedly off-beat rhythm.

Craig spins him again but this time he drops Tweek’s hand and slides the hand at Tweek’s waist lower. Tweek nearly falls against Craig’s chest at the sudden change. Strong hands hitch under his thighs, effortlessly lifting him on top of the clean counter. They’re practically eye level now, and Tweek takes the opportunity to admire Craig’s face up close.

_~ And life is a road I wanna keep going, love is a river I wanna keep flowing ~_

The song’s still playing as they lock eyes, neither ready to drop their gaze until Tweek blinks one too many times and looks to the side in embarrassment. Craig’s so handsome and was the object of many girls’ affections years before they were a couple. Tweek’s still not sure what he sees in someone as plain as him?

As if he can read his thoughts, Craig leans in by Tweek’s ear. “You’re putting yourself down again, honey. Stop it,” he rests his large, tanned hands on either side of Tweek’s thighs. “You’re so pretty, Tweek.”

“ _Ngnn_ not pretty. Not a girl,” Tweek grumbles, but he’s blushing anyway as he reaches to grasp at Craig’s hair, running his fingers through it. Craig almost purrs at the touch, and feeling bold, Tweek delicately trails his fingers down the sides of Craig’s neck, watching his darling boyfriend shiver as his thumbs brush against his collar bone.

“Tease.” Deep blue eyes stare into Tweek’s soul. “I…” Craig swallows dryly, opening and closing his mouth as he figures out his words, “I have a bit of a dilemma, babe,” he finally pants softly, leaning forward to rest their foreheads together, his breath ghosting a kiss across Tweek’s lips.

The atmosphere’s charged and Tweek twitches, feeling every vibration more keenly. “Hmm? Craig?”

“Right now,” Craig’s almost whispering yet his voice still sends shivers down Tweek’s spine. “I want to kiss you.”

Tweek chuckles, “Nothing’s stopped you before,” he runs his hands down Craig’s shoulders and rests them on his forearms, revelling in their closeness and simple touches.

Craig pulls back just far enough to gaze into Tweek’s eyes once more. His pupils are blown wide and Tweek can’t pull away from the longing stare. “No honey, I mean _really_ kiss you,” he slowly, _so slowly_ looks down towards Tweek’s pink lips, watching them change shape as Tweek breathlessly “ooooooohs” in realization.

It seems silly. They’ve dated since they were nine and ten; held hands, shared a bed and cuddled. They’ve innocently kissed each other’s hair, neck and palms. They’ve witnessed Wendy kissing Stan in the playground and Token kissing Nichole after a trip to the movies. Yet although they’ve been together longer than both those couples, Tweek and Craig still haven’t kissed on the lips. Always waiting for the right time and refusing to be intimate for the sake of others.

Craig tucks a loose strand of blond hair behind Tweek’s ear, “I wanted our first to be perfect,” he admits gently, “we’d do something…grown up? Special? Like dinner by candle light. I’d make sure you were comfortable and relaxed. We’d hold hands, laugh at jokes, talk about our future and…we wouldn’t take our eyes off each other.”

“You mean, like right n-now?” Tweek blushes, refusing to break eye contact as he feels around for Craig’s hands.

The next song starts playing and they share a smile when they realize it’s the one Craig chose during their hunt for Ike in the woods all those years ago. Craig quickly presses stop and the silence only heightens the sense of excitement for something to come.

Their fingers soon lock together, palms equally sweaty, but they’re together, _always together._ “That’s,” it’s Tweek’s turn to swallow around the growing lump in his throat, tears pricking in the corner of his eyes because Craig has really thought about this, about _him,_ “that’s so romantic,” he whispers the last word so quietly that Craig has to lean in to hear him. “But we’re only fourteen, Craig,” well, Craig is, but Tweek will join him soon enough, “it doesn’t _need_ to be perfect. It will always be _special_ to me because it’s _you_.”

Craig’s tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth, like it does when he’s thinking. “I wanted the memory of it to be extra special…so that we still clearly remember it when we’re _really_ old.”

Since Craig still hasn’t put his chullo back on, Tweek can see the tips of his ears turning bright red. _Cute!_ God, he loves this boy so much.

“Was that stupid?” Craig asks suddenly, “were you waiting for me to just…do it?”

Tweek shakes his head slowly, heart racing but mind calm as a tranquil lagoon, “We agreed we’d wait until we were _both_ ready. I’d wait forever for you, Craig.”

“I know it’s just a kiss, but,” Craig’s nervous, Tweek can tell, and it’s so refreshing and sweet to see this side of him, “it’s a kiss with _you,_ Tweek.”

Craig’s cautious of moving too fast for Tweek. He’s always thinking of ways to adjust his own expectations, even when it’s a joint effort. Craig doesn’t care about much, but the things and people he does care about mean the world to him. Tweek _is_ his world. So, it’s only fair for Tweek to prove it works both ways.

“Kiss me, Craig,” Tweek says, with such strength and determination that Craig blinks a few times, caught off-guard, “or, if you want,” Tweek slowly moves closer, releasing their hands so that he can grasp softly at Craig’s face, “I’ll kiss _you_.”

It starts as a light peck, a brief touch of Tweek’s lips onto Craig’s, until Craig comes crashing back down to Earth and leans forward to lock them together again, his arms wrapping around Tweek’s body. It’s a bit wet and messy, both boys inexperienced but excited and eager. There aren’t any sparks or explosions like in the movies. Instead, it’s peacefully intimate, and if Tweek had to sum it up in one word, he’d choose _“right”_. A feeling of warmth blossoms in Tweek’s chest as his mind repeats _I’m kissing Craig, I’m KISSING CRAIG!!!_ He can hardly believe it’s finally happening!

Craig’s hands slide around Tweek’s body to untie his apron, slipping it over his head and tossing it across the counter before leaning in to kiss Tweek again, lips greedily attacking Tweek’s face with sloppy little kisses until they both lose it and start giggling. Without the apron, Tweek almost feels exposed and downright lewd, despite being fully clothed. His cheeks are flushed in embarrassment but he finds himself latching back onto Craig, determined to finish what he started.

“That was amazing, _you’re_ amazing!” Craig’s buzzing, his excitement infectious, “I’m _soooo_ happy!”

Tweek locks his legs around Craig’s waist to pull him closer. “Best first kiss ever!”

“Worth the wait, honey,” Craig agrees, running a thumb over Tweek’s bottom lip, concerned it might swell from the attention. Tweek kisses his thumb mischievously, an idea suddenly coming to mind.

“You know,” Tweek grins, “we can still do it your way!”

“Hmm?” Craig wraps a long arm around Tweek shoulders, body still pressed almost flush against Tweek’s. “Will it still count if it’s _after_ we’ve kissed? I can’t just give your virginity back, babe.”

Tweek almost short circuits at the way Craig can say _virginity_ so casually, but the plan Craig had in mind for them was so romantic.

“We can use Mom’s emergency blanket as a table cover,” Tweek releases Craig from his grasp and hops off the counter, taking Craig’s hand and leading him towards the ‘Staff Only’ back room.

They find the blanket rolled up on the bottom shelf of the unit on the back wall; a soft, white fleece covered in pink hearts and edged with tassels. It’s something Dad brought back after a business meeting, and despite being worth only a few dollars, Mom’s treasured it ever since. Tweek’s seen them use it for their own date nights in the coffee shop.

Craig watches with amusement as Tweek roots around in a box full of odds and ends that Dad still hasn’t found a permanent home for. He victoriously lifts a half-used candle out.

“We’ve got matches in here too, somewhere. In case of a power outage.”

Sure enough, Mom’s left them in a drawer, alongside a torch, spare batteries and flares. Craig looks questioningly at the latter and raises an eyebrow.

“Dad’s stashed the gun away,” is all Tweek says, taking the match box. “Let’s dress the table!” 

Craig chooses the one nearest the window, where he’d sat and grilled Jaxon earlier. Tweek fills two coffee cups with water since the machines have been switched off, and brings them over.

“There’s not much left for food. Just one tray of brownies in the fridge.”

Usually Tweek saves something over for a friend, or the Tweaks themselves enjoy a treat with a coffee after a long shift.

“Sounds perfect to me,” Craig grins. His phone and Tweek’s suddenly ping at the same time. It’s Clyde using their group chat.

_Clyde: You guys still coming over or what?! The board’s almost ready!_

_Craig: Been a bit busy. Lots of sweeping._

_Clyde: That sucks dudes._

_Jimmy: Not if he’s been sweeping a certain someone off his feet!_

_Tweek: Aah! How’d you guess?!?!_

_Craig: Ignore them babe. See you in 30._

Tweek’s about to put his phone away when it vibrates again.

_Worry wort. Even being dead wouldn’t stop me. Home now. Karen loved the cupcake. Talk later Tweekie, that offer still stands <3_

Tweek breathes a sigh of relief that Kenny made it back safely. He ignores the last bit. Tonight’s all about him and Craig anyway. He gets up to plate the brownies, watching Craig from the corner of his eye as he types a quick message to his Dad arranging their lift to Token’s.

Then, Craig’s lighting the candle and Tweek turns off the lights. The flame illuminates Tweek’s pale face and when Craig looks closely, he can see the trail of light freckles that decorate Tweek’s cheeks and nose. They’re barely noticeable but Craig loves being able to admire the constellations across Tweek’s visage.

“To us,” Craig toasts as they clink their coffee cups together.

“And to our _perfect_ first kiss,” Tweek adds, taking a sip of water that turns into a series of desperate gulps when he realizes just how thirsty he is.

Craig’s dad has agreed to come and get them in fifteen minutes, so they take their time eating the brownies, Craig lifting his fork to Tweek’s lips.

“The germs, Craig!” Tweek panics, although he really does wish he was brave enough to just complete Craig’s fantasy.

“We literally just kissed, babe,” Craig sighs, still holding the fork in front of Tweek’s face, “no better way to share germs than that.”

“Argh _gah_ you’re right!” Tweek squeezes his eyes shut and takes a bite. After a few chews, he opens them to see Craig staring dreamily back at him.

“You know, Dad’s going to be so fucking excited when he finds out about this.”

Tweek swallows and tries to imagine just how Mr Tucker will react to the news of their first kiss and candlelight brownies.

“Are we,” Tweek takes another sip of water, “are we telling him tonight?”

Craig wonders about that for a second, his eyes locking on to Tweek’s fork. “Nah. We’ll never get to Token’s if we do.”

“Okay,” Tweek stabs a chunk of brownie onto his fork and offers it to Craig, having to avert his eyes as Craig takes the whole piece into his mouth. His stomach flutters nervously. _What the hell is wrong with me?!_

Craig hasn’t stopped smiling. “He’s going to be so pissed that we kept it from him. But we should enjoy the peace while it lasts.” He places his fork onto his empty plate and reaches over to touch Tweek’s face; running his thumb gently over Tweek’s cheek and tracing the almost invisible freckles. “Our little secret?”

Tweek nods, eyes already lost in Craig’s as they meet in the middle for another soft kiss.

“Our little secret.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Craig and Tweek dance to is "At the Beginning"; the version sung by Donna Lewis and Richard Marx. It's a beautiful song!
> 
> I love soft Craig. <3 <3 <3
> 
> Thanks for reading. :)


	8. just one more thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello :) 
> 
> I hope everybody is keeping safe and well?! Thank you so much to everyone who has decided to come along with me for the ride! I really appreciate it! :) <3

The investigation board turns out to be a huge, magnetic glass whiteboard in the Black’s study. Right in the center of the board is a doodle of Jaxon – which Tweek assumes was drawn by Clyde – with a crooked smile and a series of loops across his head to represent his curly hair. The boys have sorted their questions into topic areas – which Tweek assumes was suggested by Jimmy – and they’ve underlined some key points.

There’s also a Tweak Bro’s napkin with Jaxon’s signature on it held in place by a super-strength magnet. It’s all rather surreal, but Tweek’s in awe at the level of detail. Clyde really wasn’t exaggerating about their plan to investigate Jaxon in his honor. There’s a few blank spaces left dotted about for Craig to add his own notes, but there’s already tons of information. Much more than Tweek expected from just an hour or so of chatting with Jaxon.

Token and Jimmy take their places at either side of the board whilst Clyde shuffles back and forth at the front wearing a long and tatty, tan-colored mackintosh jacket that Tweek guesses belongs to his dad. He’s probably just waiting to cut in with a “just one more thing” spiel.

Two chairs have been positioned about a meter away from the board – which Tweek assumes was Token’s idea – and being a gentleman, Tweek lets Craig choose his seat first. Craig gives him a cheeky smile, taking a seat and then pulling Tweek onto his lap.

“ _Gah!_ Craig!” Tweek squawks as he falls sideways against Craig’s chest. Clyde and Token are grinning at each other like Cheshire cats. They’re probably holding back on their bro high-fives. 

“Alright fellas, w-w-we’ll be third, fourth and f-fifth wheels,” Jimmy jokes as Tweek turns beet red and looks down at his lap.

Craig takes the moment to whisper in his ear, “This seat’s the comfiest, but sit where you want, honey.”

Tweek wiggles about for a moment, as if testing out the viability of Craig’s legs as seat cushions, then he stands up, giving Craig a shy smile, “Easy, tiger,” he chuckles, sitting in the other chair, “I’m sharing my attention between four handsome guys tonight.”

“You’ve got some _real_ competition here, Craig,” Clyde laughs, strutting in front of Tweek and attempting to pose like some lame GAP model, “maybe Tweek fancies a bit of _the Donovan_ instead of your boring ass!”

Jimmy and Token decide to join in, too; Token sending smouldering glances Tweek’s way and Jimmy leaning casually on his crutches and waggling a come-hither finger in Tweek’s direction. They all look so silly, and Tweek can’t help it when he starts wheezing like the penguin from _Toy Story 2._

Craig gives them all the middle finger and settles back in his chair. “Alright, you idiots, settle down,” he scolds them with a quirk of a smile. “Offer’s open all night, babe,” he adds, running a hand down Tweek’s arm and relishing in the shiver.

 _Those coffee shop kisses have made Craig extra bold!_ Tweek bites his lip, still feeling the happy buzz from their not-quite-a-date-but-close-enough. If he concentrates hard enough, he can still feel Craig's lips pressed against his own. The gentle butterflies in his stomach have been replaced by hungry gannets diving against his insides at breakneck speed.

Tweek actually wouldn’t mind sitting in Craig’s lap, but it’s too soon for that. _Too dangerous._ They’ve always agreed never to move too fast. Maybe it’s time for them to have that conversation again once they’re alone?

“Well,” Token claps his hands twice, “let’s show them what we’ve got. Places, everyone.”

“Get r-ready to be a great audience,” Jimmy adds, passing a spare whiteboard pen to Craig so he can write out his own findings later.

It’s Clyde who starts, getting himself into character for true dramatic effect.

“I spent the most time chatting with the _suspect_ ,” he pauses, a finger on his chin, “a man who is quite unremarkable, if not for his uncanny resemblance to a well-known fitness star. In fact, had it not been for his suspected unsavoury intentions towards our dear friend Tweek here, he may never have come onto our radar at all.”

Craig rolls his eyes, “Are you going to keep this up the whole time?”

Token shoots him an _I know, but just let him be_ look and Craig simply sighs and waves his hand. “Tell us more, oh great Detective Donovan.”

Clyde is more than happy to do so. “As you can see from the Personal Profile, I was able to confirm the following…” he pulls what looks like a breadstick out of his jacket pocket and points it at the relevant section on the board.

“Our suspect, Jaxon Matthews, hails from a family of four in North Park. He’s studying English and History at college. He’s dated three women; the first when he was 16, and the most recent break up was five months ago. My co-worker, Token Black, is able to confirm that there was also a man in Jaxon’s dating history. If you will, Token?”

“Thank you,” Token steps forward, “although Jaxon did not have the pleasure of dating any black women, he did have a brief fling with a Mexican guy in his first semester at college. He claims he was “experimenting” and did not have any feelings for the guy. He hasn’t been interested in men since and identifies as heterosexual.”

“Experi- _men_ -ting indeed,” Jimmy says suggestively, “he might not be into dick full-time, b-but he’s been there.”

Clyde clears his throat and continues, “I asked him if he’s into blondes, but apparently he hasn’t any preferences.” He moves the breadstick lower, “Jaxon plays soccer and tennis at weekends, likes to go for morning runs – his family are weird and actually _like_ fell running – he can’t play any instruments, but is in a choir. He isn’t big on the party scene, but has been on the odd bar crawl.”

It’s so surreal, hearing all this about a guy who Tweek exchanges a few pleasantries with a couple of times a week, before moving on with his day. Tweek feels a little guilty that he hasn’t really asked Jaxon much about his life. He could give Tweek all kinds of warnings for what _not_ to do in college!

“So far,” Clyde continues, “he’s just a typical student with a few hobbies and interests. He struggles with assignments and prefers exams to coursework. No history of detentions or failed classes. No real stand out behaviour. If his brief fling with bisexuality really has ended, then there’s little cause for concern so far. Onto food and drink. Token?”

Token takes the stage without a breadstick, “I wanted to get to the bottom of _“why Tweak Bro’s?”_ , with no disrespect to Tweek of course.”

“Of course,” Tweek gives him a thumbs up, “as the _delightful_ Mr Marsh always says, we _are_ the only coffee house on the north east side!”

“Jackass,” Craig coughs under his breath and Tweek pats his arm gently, sharing the sentiment.

“And also, _“why South Park?”_ , since his college is in North Park. So, naturally, this brought us onto his food and drink preferences. As Tweek already knows, Jaxon’s a coffee lover with a sweet tooth. His favorite coffee is Tweak Bro’s Sunset Blend and he was full of praise for Tweek’s brownies. He’s always been weak to dark chocolate – and I mean, who isn’t?” Token jokes and Jimmy raises a crutch for a high-five.

“And he buys store-baked brownies all the time, although he agrees Tweek’s baking is the best. He’s prefers to study away from college and his brother works in town, so he can get a lift back from him. He found Tweak Bro’s completely by accident and likes to support a local business. Again, nothing suspicious about it really. Jimmy?”

Clyde has started snacking on his edible pointer and pokes the nibbled end at the napkin on the board. “Yeah, Jimmy had such a cool idea!”

“T-thanks fellas, I thought we should take a p-p-pre-precau- be wary of other contact methods,” Jimmy walks towards the napkin, “as all cop shows tell us, we need to be able to r-r-recognize the handwriting of w-would-be felons.”

 _Felons?! Jesus, that’s a bit of a stretch!_ Tweek twitches violently, and nearly jolts again when Craig’s hand rubs across his thigh soothingly.

“I still can’t believe you got him to sign his name,” Craig says, his monotone voice showing no sign of being impressed, but Craig says what he means and means what he says, “that was genius.”

Jimmy laps up the praise, “Well, I suppose I channelled Eric a bit. I told Jaxon I knew about handwriting analysis and he was up for it. As you can see, his writing is on the small side with slender loops. His l-letters are jammed together and rounded.”

Clyde’s waving his half-breadstick pointer in excitement, “Dudes, we looked this up! Apparently, this means he’s likely to be a bit introverted and creative – like Tweek! – with a small social circle. He might have a tendency to crowd people, so he may be subconsciously trying to get to close to Tweek, but it doesn’t mean he’s actually _after_ him!”

“That’s amazing,” Tweek claps enthusiastically, “you’ve really done your research, Protection Squad! And Craig, what did you ask?”

“Yeah, Craig spent the least amount of time grilling the guy,” Clyde says, all ears as he waves around his increasingly smaller pointer stick. “Come on big guy, your turn!”

Craig looks over at Tweek first, smiling at him so softly that Tweek’s half tempted to grab a fistful of his hoodie, pull him close and smash his lips against that beautiful smile again and again.

“I decided to be a bit more direct,” Craig admits, lazily standing up and heading towards the board. “I told him our town is batshit crazy. I asked him if he knew about the power of Asian girls and what it means when they single you out and hook you up with a guy who wasn’t afraid to punch you in the face and call you out on bullshit you never said. A guy who you _wanted_ to follow you, even if you didn’t know _why_ his presence was so important. He was really understanding about it all. I told him it wasn’t hard to fake date a guy as cute as Tweek. Jaxon agreed with me.”

“That’s what you were waiting for, right?” Token says as Craig takes off his pen lid and scribbles a few words onto the board.

“So, I made sure he knew we were for real. I told him that even though the Asian girls chose us, in the end, we chose each other.”

“Aww, Craig,” Clyde coos, finishing off his stick in two bites, “you really are just a big, soft marshmallow.”

Craig throws an arm around Clyde’s shoulders, and the shorter is beaming until the arm slides into a headlock, Craig’s knuckles rubbing across Clyde’s scalp. Tweek can tell he isn’t being rough, but Clyde positively _hates_ noogies.

“O-only for Tweek, though,” Clyde pants, trying and failing to wiggle out of Craig’s grasp, “I give man, I give!”

Craig releases him and Clyde’s hands immediately fuss through his tousled hair. “Always with the hair,” he sighs, “that was pretty sappy, but I don’t believe you left it at that, dude.”

“I _may_ have mentioned that Tweek managed to give me a black eye, split lip and broken arm after one lesson of boxing, so he’d better not give him any reason to panic.”

“That’s ac-ac-actually a pretty good way of putting him off,” Jimmy laughs, taking the chair next to Tweek to rest his legs. “Don’t mess with our little scrapper!”

Token glances at Craig with a touch of suspicion, “There’s an ‘and’ coming, I can feel it.”

“ _And_ ,” Craig deadpans, “that if I find out he’s made Tweek panic, he’ll get a visit from me. That’s all.”

“Whoa, so cool,” Clyde praises, but Tweek puts his head in his hands, “like the mafia!”

“Tell me you didn’t actually make it sound so much _nngh_ like a threat, man?” Tweek groans, and Jimmy stretches over to pat him on the back.

Craig shrugs, “I wanted him to take us seriously, babe.”

“He does, Craig. And if he didn’t, I’d deal with it,” Tweek looks again at the whiteboard, at all the notes about Jaxon.

Some of these things he’d never known about the guy. He thinks about the way Jaxon had leaned into his space earlier. It did sort of fit with Jimmy’s handwriting analysis.

 _The guys have done their best to convince you things are fine, so of course you’re the one freaking out about it now,_ he nibbles at his fingers, not even realizing how hard he’s chewing until Jimmy gently tugs his hand away from his mouth.

“I’m really impressed guys,” Tweek says slowly, genuinely blown away by their efforts, “and this makes me feel a lot better. I hope you’ll relax a bit more too, Clyde, now you know Jaxon’s not out to get me.”

 _Is he though?_ , his mind teases, and Tweek’s body freezes up, _don’t you remember what he said? “If I were Craig, I’d be two steps away from tying you up and never letting you out of my sight!” What was he trying to say?_

“He’s not out to get-” Tweek tries to repeat it, swallowing hard. He screws his eyes shut and focuses on the cars zooming down their tracks. He tries to slow them down. It’s difficult; the lanes keep messing up. Dead ends and intersections are merging; colliding; buzzing. Tweek can’t keep still. There’s nowhere to park; the thoughts keep crashing and pounding.

“Tweek?” Jimmy leans in, “You there, buddy?”

The pounding is too distracting, too demanding, _You should tell the guys what he said, but you won’t. You won’t because they’ll just think you’re suffering from delusions. Isn’t that what you’re really afraid of, Tweek?_

“ _Nngh,_ it’s too loud,” Tweek croaks, feeling a warm hand repeatedly rubbing down his left arm.

“One thought at a time,” a voice gently instructs.

The cars are trying to break out of his head. Tweek knows he probably sounds crazy, but it feels like _everything_ wants to escape from the confinement of his body.

“The cars, the thoughts, my brain,” Tweek tries to explain, “they want out.”

“Breath, honey,” Craig’s there, crouched in front of Tweek’s chair, holding out his hands for Tweek to squeeze. Tweek slowly releases his shirt, unaware he was even pulling on it, and loosely locks their hands together. He follows Craig’s lead: in-four, hold it, out-four. He repeats it until he’s able to find his voice again.

“M-maybe it’s me?” Tweek pants, voice cracking as he rides out the panic, “Maybe I’m the one trying to get out of my head?”

Token reappears with a glass of water and his medication. “Take your time, Tweek,” he assures him softly, “no one’s going anywhere.”

“It’s the relief,” Clyde surmises from Tweek’s other side, pressing one hand on the small of his back. Not crowding him, just letting him know he’s there. “We were all pretty wound up about it. We just wanted to make you feel safe, Tweek.”

Craig presses the glass to Tweek’s lips. It’s so cool that he jerks a little, but he lets Craig tip the glass, not trusting his own shaky fingers. After a few sips, he swallows his Xanax gratefully. The boys all stay quiet, waiting for Tweek to come around in his own time. It’s enough to make Tweek’s head spin. He’s lucky to have such amazing friends.

“It’s been a long day,” Token finally says, “let’s grab some blankets and watch a movie?”

“C-c-can we make popcorn?” Jimmy asks, one hand still rhythmically rubbing up and down Tweek’s arm, helping to ground him.

“Sure can. Now, I picked last time, so-”

Craig opens his mouth, “I-”

Token cuts in quickly, “And _no_ Craig, we’re not watching fucking _G-Force_ again.”

The others laugh and Tweek rests his head against Jimmy’s firm bicep, soaking in the warm and friendly atmosphere and focussing on his breathing.

“I wasn’t going to suggest that anyway,” Craig pouts, but he doesn’t say anything more.

“What about you Tweek, anything you fancy?” Jimmy asks, using his free hand to softly run his fingers through Tweek’s tousled blond hair.

Tweek thinks for a moment, “The Goonies?”

He’s in the mood for a light-hearted, family adventure. He fondly remembers this one for the quirky group of friends experiencing comic book style situations. His parents let him watch it for the first time when he was three years old and it had given him nightmares. Only after watching it through older eyes had he discovered why it was such a classic.

The boys all give their approval, then Clyde and Token head off to make the popcorn. Craig scrolls through Netflix whilst Tweek helps Jimmy arrange blankets and cushions all over the two couches.

They’re settling in for the evening, ready to press ‘play’, when Clyde quickly interrupts, “Just one more thing!”

 _Ahh. There it is._ Tweek and Craig share a smile, cuddled up together on the two-seater under a navy fleece blanket. Clyde can be such a dork. He’s not even wearing the stupid coat anymore.

“Go on,” Token sighs, pretending to be annoyed but still casually throwing an arm around Clyde’s shoulder.

“Just want to give a toast-less toast to our success, to the Tweak’s success, and to the best friends in the whole world!”

Instead of clinking glasses, they all bump fists. Then, Token dims the lights and the movie begins. Tweek presses his body tiredly against Craig’s, barely flinching when a finger runs gently over his bottom lip.

Tweek makes sure the others are focussed on the screen before he tugs Craig closer, and like a sneaky couple at the back of a cinema, they exchange a couple of delicate kisses. Craig’s eyes are soft and gentle, looking at Tweek as if he’s the most precious person in his universe.

Tweek’s safe and warm here. He settles back to watch the movie, threading his fingers through Craig’s and letting himself slowly relax and unwind.

“We’ll watch _G-Force_ at yours later,” Tweek whispers into Craig’s ear about twenty minutes in.

“Shhh!” Clyde pipes up between crunches of popcorn. “It starts picking up in a bit.”

Craig flips him off, then presses a kiss to the side of Tweek’s cheek, whispering back just as softly, “thanks, babe.”

\---

The success of the first ‘I Can Chat’ event leads to the Tweak’s decision to host one every month. As expected with a town as diverse, egotistical and erratic as South Park, people have a lot of problems, and the majority like to talk about them.

It doesn’t even feel like a month has passed when the second event rolls around. Tweak Bro’s’ regulars are back to give their support. Tweek also recognises a lot of parents in attendance this time. He spies Kenny’s parents arguing over finances in the corner whilst Kyle’s dad hovers on the periphery, offering them his services.

Stan's father is seated across from Jaxon this time, and Mrs Bannerman is surrounded by moms listening intently to her ‘bored housewives’ stories.

Jaxon hasn’t really interacted with Tweek much following his interrogation from the guys. They still exchange smiles and pleasantries, but Tweek hasn’t had the chance to really converse with him. He supposes that’s a good thing, since a bit of distance between them will make Craig and Clyde feel better, but Tweek’s honestly a little concerned about the guy. He must have more college deadlines coming up. He’s looking increasingly tired every visit; his acne’s flaring up and he looks to have lost some weight.

 _How you could have even considered for one moment he was a threat?_ he scolds himself. Despite his height and weight disadvantage, Tweek could probably take Jaxon out in one hit with how he looks right now. 

Instead, Tweek keeps an eye out for a different kind of perceived threat. He hasn’t spotted the strange man in a suit just yet, but Tweek’s gut tells him to be on his guard. He hasn’t mentioned this man to the guys, not wanting to cause another bout of paranoia over a customer, but he feels guilty keeping his concerns from Craig. If he was here right now, Tweek would be tempted to tell him everything.

As it happens, Craig and Token have a practise match this weekend, and Tricia’s at dance class, so it’s just Clyde and Jimmy hanging out and drinking fruit juice at the counter.

Bebe, Wendy, Nichole and Heidi are giggling together around a small table, and a couple of the Asian girls are drawing pictures at a table by the window. The atmosphere is lively and buzzing, and Tweek’s really pleased that people want to give this event, and Tweak Bro’s, a chance.

Tweek thinks the shop smells extra amazing today, too; when he finally gets a moment to stand still, he closes his eyes and simply breathes it all in, picking up on the delicate vanilla and warming spices that linger subtly beneath the usual coffee aroma. Dad's decided to stick with their re-worked Sunset Blend as the special offering today.

Tweek’s spent the last week with Mom trying out some new bakes to entice people through the door. Baking’s always been a bit of a stress-reliever in the Tweak household. Tweek’s relieved that Mom looks a lot happier and in control this time round. It helps that Dad’s been a bit less stressed after the financial success of the first event.

About an hour into the event, a pop of orange comes into the shop, catching Tweek’s eye. It’s Kenny, waving brightly at Tweek on his arrival.

“Tweekie-pie, looking good,” Kenny grins, “I’m heart-broken you never took me up on that offer, though.” 

“Kenny, you came! Work actually let you _nngh_ out early?” Tweek asks, his right eye twitching in a series of spasms.

“Nah,” Kenny swings his arms up behind his head, “told ‘em I came down with the shits and they let me have the afternoon off, full pay.”

Tweek shakes his head disapprovingly, “You’ve gotta stop hanging around Cartman so much, dude. That plan reeks of his _genius_.”

“Well, I couldn’t miss the chance to check this out, Tweekie. Speaking of Cartman, he was gonna make an appearance today. Surprised the fatass isn’t here already, telling one of his bullshit sob stories in exchange for some freebies.”

“Urgh,” Tweek follows Kenny as he looks for a place to sit, “he better not. Today’s going well so far.”

The tables are all full, so Kenny takes a seat at the end of the counter, leaving a couple of seats between himself and Jimmy. They raise their hands in greeting but neither attempt to make conversation.

“One vanilla cupcake and a cup of your daily blend, please,” Kenny smiles, dropping some notes onto the counter top, “keep the change.”

It looks like Kenny’s got enough to spare this month, if he can afford to spend it on frivolities. Tweek can see Dad watching him from the opposite end of the shop, so he takes the notes and puts them through the till. Dad gives him a thumbs up which he ignores.

“You know,” Kenny’s smirking when Tweek returns with his coffee and cupcake. “Craig’s been looking mighty _fine_ lately. His skin’s all post-orgasm glowy. I’m sure it’s ‘cos of you. Dude barely cracks a smile when I talk to him.”

Tweek puts the cup down first, his cheeks flushing red. Surely Kenny’s just teasing? Tweek should be used to such behaviour by now. Kenny’s always been such a perv.

“You give him a blowie or something, sweet Tweeks?”

“ _Gah!_ ” Tweek twitches as tries to put the plated cupcake in front of Kenny, accidentally jabbing his index finger into the soft, buttercream icing. “Shit, Kenny! Don’t say stuff like that, man! Hang on, I-I’ll get you another-”

“It’s fine,” Kenny grabs hold of Tweek’s wrist, using his other hand to safely put the cupcake on the counter. He takes Tweek’s finger into his mouth and sucks off the buttercream with a pop, licking his lips afterwards. “Tastes good.”

Tweek pulls his wet finger out and diverts his eyes from the cheeky grin on Kenny’s face. He shakily steps back, clutching his hands into fists, blunt nails digging into his palms to stop him from slapping Kenny round the face. He doesn’t want to draw any attention to himself or ruin the event. 

“Enjoy your cupcake. I hope you choke, _bitch_ ,” he stomps away to wash his hands in the sink.

Kenny knows he doesn’t really mean it anyway. He really has to stop pushing boundaries between them like this, though, or he really will knock his lights out, buddy or not. Kenny’s the one always “chasing skirts”, but he can say and do such dirty stuff to Tweek like it’s nothing. Tweek wonders if he’s a closet bisexual or something. Maybe he should ask Jaxon what tendencies made him try out a guy?

_No, stop right there, Tweek. That conversation will definitely not go down well with the guys. Jaxon might think you’re into him, and Kenny…well…it’s better not to start questioning his sexuality._

Kenny’s still eating the cupcake when Tweek comes back out to deliver more orders to tables. He blows a kiss between bites and Tweek flips him off.

Luckily, there’s no sign of Cartman, and Tweek prays he stays away. He rarely comes to Tweak Bro’s anyway, telling Tweek he’d rather taste his _own_ sewage than the crap they serve. That’s fine by Tweek. Wherever Cartman goes, trouble soon follows. Tweek will never forget his time with Stan, Kyle and Cartman. The other two were alright; Stan friendly and forgiving but bland and Kyle intelligent and outspoken but uptight, but Cartman was a freaking psycho. End of.

“Son,” Dad hands him a fresh cup of their Sunset Blend, “for Jaxon,” he smiles serenely. “He’s at Mrs Bannerman’s table.”

Tweek heads over to find Jaxon sitting with his head in his hands. His laptop’s on and Word is open, but the document's empty; the cursor flashing like it's trying to send out an SOS.

Mrs Bannerman lightly touches his arm, “Cheer up, duck,” she spots Tweek and nods a hello. “It’s on me. This one’s lacking a bit of inspiration today.”

“Oh, I couldn’t-” Jaxon looks up to see Mrs Bannerman has already taken the money out of her purse and handed it to Tweek. “T-thanks Mrs B.”

“Sorry, is it too noisy?” Tweek asks, looking around at the tables full of people sharing stories and gossip over frothy cappuccinos.

“I knew what I was getting myself in for,” Jaxon bites his lip, “to be honest, I’ve been struggling with this all week. Everything I write’s garbage. I’m gonna fail this module for sure.”

“What you need,” Mrs Bannerman leans forward, her eyes sparkling, “is a quiet retreat away from everything and everyone.”

“Like an author’s retreat?” Jaxon asks, intrigued. “Where they go off to those self-catered little huts in the middle of nowhere to help with writer’s block?”

“Well, not an official place,” Mrs Bannerman says thoughtfully, “it’s probably quite expensive to go to place that advertises itself as such a retreat. No, I’m thinking a bit more…off the grid.”

Tweek really shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but he’s never heard Mrs Bannerman talking about this subject matter before.

“That reminds me, dear. In my youth, I used to meet up with someone regularly. An _older_ man,” she chuckles deviously. “He was a writer. A brilliant one, but oh, did he suffer from horrendous blocks. He hated anything stopping his creativity. One day, he brought me to an abandoned cabin in the woods. I thought we were there for some good old hanky panky, but…”

Tweek flushes, wondering where the heck this is going, but Jaxon’s so interested in the story, he urges her to continue, “His retreat, right?”

“Yes,” Mrs Bannerman’s eyes cloud over as she steeples her fingers under her chin, lost in nostalgia, “yes, it was. He showed me his poetry and then ignored me for three hours. I had to walk myself home, all the way through the woods, before it got dark.”

“T-that’s terrible!” Tweek twitches, knowing he’d be freaking out if _he_ was lost and alone in some wood.

“He was a good man, just devoted to the written word. I haven’t thought about him in a long time,” she sighs wistfully. “I wonder if the cabin’s still there? Not many people bother to go so deep into Hackfall Wood.”

“Wait…Hackfall? You don’t mean the one just beyond Funland?” Jaxon closes his laptop lid, deep in thought. “In North Park?

“Unless you know of any other?” Mrs Bannerman smiles, “It may not even be standing now. Place was in a bit of state even in my youth. But it gave him the freedom to write, so I had a soft spot for it in my heart. You just need to find a place that works for you, dear.”

Tweek leaves the pair in peace to check in on Clyde and Jimmy. It looks like Jimmy’s been practising his new material. Clyde’s clearly been crying with laughter and his cheeks are still wet and shiny.

“You guys want anything else? On the house, if you don’t tell Dad,” he whispers, looking around and sighing in relief when he realizes Dad must be in the back.

“Actually, we’re heading off in a bit,” Clyde wipes his face with a Tweak Bro’s napkin, “said we’d help Mrs Valmer with some fence re-touching in the garden.”

“Oh ok, then let me box some treats for you to go. What flavor would your mom like, Jimmy?”

“V-v-vanilla’s good. Hang on, I’ll pay. Your dad _always_ knows, Tweek.”

“Yeah, he’s got, like, a special sense for when people don’t pay up. Don’t wanna get you in trouble, dude.” Clyde nods, searching through his pockets and coming up short for another cupcake. Jimmy rolls his eyes and pays for Clyde’s too, then they head out with their box of treats.

“See you later, Tweek!”

“B-b-bye Tweek!”

Tweek looks around for Kenny, but the sneaky blond has already made his exit. He'll check up on him later. Tweek spends the rest of the afternoon clearing tables, cleaning cups and serving orders. Time flies, and he only manages to sneak into the backroom once to spend a few minutes perusing through the photos Craig’s been sending of himself, bored and lonely on the bench, and Token making an awesome slam dunk.

The event soon ends without a hitch, with plenty of people taking boxes of cupcakes home with them. Thankfully, Cartman never bothered to show up, and Tweek isn’t sure the rat-faced man came either. If he did, it certainly wasn't for long. Tweek waves goodbye to Jaxon, watching Dad hand him yet another cup of Sunset Blend for his journey home.

 _How many of those has he had today? He’s an honorary Tweak at this point,_ he grins, listening to Dad’s closing speech, wrapping Mom in a hug and preparing to clean up all over again.


	9. he wants what he can't have

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter weekend to everyone celebrating. I hope you are keeping safe, positive and well where you are. Please forgive any mistakes this chapter, I haven't been feeling my greatest lately and it probably shows in my work. I'm so sorry.

It’s bright and early one Wednesday morning, about an hour before Tweak Bro’s will open their doors to the public. Tweek takes a deep breath and puts the Arabica beans into the grinder, counting in his head as they whizz and grind. He releases his breath and finger at the same time, dips in a teaspoon and critically eyes the coarseness of the beans.

He takes a pinch between his fingers, rubbing the grind between his thumb and index finger, before flicking it into the waste. Dad’s hovering behind him, trying his hardest not to interfere, but it’s still a little off-putting.

Tweek tries to focus on the coffee, but he can _feel_ Dad looking over his shoulder.

“Son, I think-”

Tweek spins around, eyebrows furrowed, “I know, Dad. A fraction more. Can’t you go and…do something else for a minute? Please?”

Dad holds up his hands, “Sorry, sorry. I trust you, Tweek. Coffee’s in your blood, son. Call me back for a taste test, alright?”

Tweek deep breathes for a moment, imagining Craig’s stood behind him, pressed into his back with his strong arms wrapped around his waist. Tweek tries to imagine his smooth-as-steamed-milk voice whispering encouragements into his ear. _You’ve got this, honey. You’re capable of more than you think._ Tweek’s knees jerk, and he quickly looks around to see if Mom or Dad’s noticed. He’s relieved that Mom has her back to him and Dad, true to his word, has gone into the staff only back room.

He shakes his head, _focus on the coffee!_

If all goes well this morning, Dad will let Tweek serve the afternoon crowd. It’s the opportunity he’s been waiting for since Dad started his barista training. Tweek grinds the beans slightly more, checking with the spoon one more time. _Got it!_ He’s happy with the grind and eagerly feeds it to Black Jack. He’s trembling with excitement, ready to try a cup of _his_ daily blend.

Tweek then weighs out his coffee, coming up too light at first. He adds more with slow precision, his jittery fingers making it a little tricky, but his determination wins out. He has a 0.2g lee-way either side, but Dad’s a perfectionist and Tweek doesn’t want to let him down.

He stamps the coffee flat, blesses it and clips it into the machine. He presses the button for a single espresso and tugs at his apron while he waits. Black Jack pours out his coffee in 20 seconds. Tweek frowns. He knows that isn’t long enough for a decent cup of coffee. He has a sip to check and his worry is confirmed; the coffee’s bitter and a touch unpleasant.

Tweek won’t call Dad in until he has something presentable to give him, so he repeats the process. It takes another couple of attempts before Tweek can relax. He sips at his fourth coffee. The grind is good, the weight is spot on and the consistency is what he’s looking for. He tastes it and then sips again to make sure.

He puts the cup down, a huge smile on his face, and then, unable to control his body, he starts jumping up and down on the spot, “Yes! Yes, yes, yes!” He wishes Craig was here to celebrate the victory too, but in his heart, he knows that only Mom and Dad understand the depth of his achievement.

He shouts across the shop, “Mom, Mom, I did it! Here, come taste!”

Mom quickly puts the brush down and hurries over, her dress floating around her thin, pale legs. “Call your father, sweetie,” she beams, picking up the cup and taking a sip. “Oh, it’s lovely, Tweek. Rich and well-balanced. He’ll be so proud!”

Tweek doesn’t even make it to the door when Dad bursts out, “It’s ready!” He grins, and Tweek wonders how he knows? Dad’s really like a bloodhound when it comes to coffee. “What do you think, son?”

“I like it,” Tweek nods, “but I really want to know what you think…”

Dad takes the cup from Mom after she cheekily wipes off her lipstick with a napkin. He smells it first, then swills it around like wine. Tweek hops from one foot to another in anticipation. Dad’s the best and worst judge he could have for a taste test.

When he finally takes a sip, he closes his eyes and swallows it slowly, savouring it. Mom grips Tweek’s hand as they await the verdict. Another sip, and then another. Finally, Dad puts the empty cup down on the counter.

“Son,” Dad’s eyes look to be sparkling, “that was…beautiful,” he puts his hands on Tweek’s shoulders, “I’m proud of you, Tweek. Dare I say, I can only compare this to a rose growing in a country garden; beautiful and delicate. Something _everyone_ should see.”

“Y-you mean-?”

Dad raises a finger, “Ah-ah, hold your horses. One more thing first.”

Tweek nods, knowing the final part of the test. “Ready, Dad. Fire away.”

“Grind?”

“Between kinetic sand and fairy dust.”

“Weight?”

“17.5g.”

“Yield?”

“35g cup.”

“Time?”

“26 sec-”

Tweek isn’t able to finish his sentence before Dad’s hands grasp under his armpits. He’s lifting him up as if he weighs less than a bag of coffee beans, before spinning them both around enthusiastically, “Tweek Tweak,” he laughs, “you’re ready! Son, you’re ready!”

Mom starts clapping happily in celebration, and Tweek has to squeeze his eyes shut as he grows dizzy.

“D-down, Dad, please!”

The spinning slows and finally stops, but Tweek clutches at Dad’s burgundy sweater until the wave of dizziness passes. When he opens his eyes, his parents are looking at him so fondly that he swallows hard. Tweek’s always wanted his parents to notice him. To be proud of him.

Mom leans down to press a kiss on his forehead, “You better grab your bag, sweetie. The bus will be here any minute now.”

“Urgh, Mom,” Tweek rubs at the lipstick on his forehead, but his heart is bursting at the pride he sees his parents wearing behind their serene smiles.

“Son, Black Jack’s all yours this afternoon,” Dad grins, “don’t be late, now. If Craig wants to fool around after school, you tell him _no_ , alriiiiight?”

Tweek doesn’t have time to argue, so he just nods, then runs into the back room for his school bag. Mom has his thermos full and waiting by the time he’s ready to go.

“See you later!” he calls, before running to the nearest stop. There’s already a couple of younger kids waiting in line. Since he’s boarding from Tweak Bro’s today, Craig and Clyde will already be on the bus.

Five minutes later, the bus finally shows up. Tweek spies Kenny on a window seat near the back. He fogs up the glass with his breath, then starts drawing an unrealistic picture of a dick with his finger. He waves to Tweek with one hand, pointing at his “window dick” with the other. Tweek twitches and pretends he hasn’t seen him. Kyle, his seat partner, finally notices what he’s been drawing and smacks him round the back of his head.

Tweek hops onto the bus, spotting Craig at the front. He’s put his bag on the seat next to his to save it for Tweek.

“Morning honey,” he grins as Tweek slides gratefully into the seat. “You been trying out one of Tricia’s gross face masks or something?”

Tweek wonders what the hell Craig’s on about until he points at his forehead. He glances at his reflection in the window and flushes in embarrassment. He’s smeared Mom’s pink lipstick across his forehead with his grind-covered fingers! It looks like he’s forgotten to wash off half of some weird exfoliating mask.

“Ahhhh!? Dude! Have you got a tissue or something?” Tweek panics, looking for a napkin in his bag and coming up short.

Craig shakes his head, slowly reaching out with one hand to cup Tweek’s chin. “Stay still, babe.” With his free arm, he wipes his sleeve gently across Tweek’s forehead until the coffee grinds and lipstick have gone.

“Th…that’s disgusting, Craig,” Tweek groans, “thank you, but- eww.”

“You’re welcome,” Craig smiles, pulling Tweek into a hug. “We’re just two messes together, babe.”

“No, _I’m_ messy, _you’re_ dirty. There’s a difference.”

Craig scoffs, “I’ll tell you who’s _dirty_. Kenny McWhoremick. I’d bet five bucks he was drawing dicks on the windows again. Fucking perv.”

Tweek rolls his eyes, unable to argue that point. “I meant _unclean_ , Craig.”

“Hey, I’ve been washing my hands!” Craig frowns, then at Tweek’s accusatory stare, he amends, “most of the time, I am! Seriously, honey.”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Tweek tries to sound stern, but Craig’s cute little pout and embarrassed flush ruin the mood. “What am I going to do with you?”

Craig’s smile’s back in full force, “I think you should be more concerned about what _I’m_ going to do with _you_.”

Tweek cuddles closer, cheeks burning, his soft voice just above a whisper as he adds, “And you say Kenny’s a pervert.”

But the butterflies are back, caught in the tumble dryer of Tweek’s stomach, comfortably swirling and fluttering and bouncing, around and around.

\---

As soon as school’s out, Tweek barely has time to hug Craig and shout goodbye to the others before he’s heading for a bus back to the coffee shop.

He’s been on edge all day, waiting for the bell to ring one final time. His concentration has been worse than usual, and he knows he hasn’t learnt anything in his classes, although in fairness, that’s the norm at South Park Middle. Instead, he’s spent the day dreaming about coffee – and kissing Craig, if he’s being honest – waiting for his chance to stand proud in front of Black Jack and serve the Tweak’s daily blend.

“How was school, honey?” Mom asks as soon as he enters the shop.

“ _Nngh_ so-so.”

“That’s good,” she smiles sweetly, and Tweek wonders not for the first time if that’s her default answer to this question regardless of what he says. Maybe next time he should tell her it’s a shit show and he’s never going in again. It isn’t _that_ far from the truth anyway. “I’ve laundered your apron,” she adds, “it’s on the back of the door.”

“Thanks,” Tweek heads into the staff only room to change.

Dad’s moving bags around when he enters, but drops everything to check his watch.

“Four minutes late, son,” Dad waggles his eyebrows, “do I need to have a word with Craig after all?”

“The bus was late, Dad. It always is.”

“Yes, yes. Throw your bag down and get ready.”

Tweek hurries into the corner and quickly changes into a clean button-down shirt, haphazardly buttoned, then he retrieves his clean, white apron to tie around his waist.

“Son-” Dad hesitates, rubbing his hands together anxiously, “I have to pop out in a bit. There’s a little…business meeting I’ve been asked to attend. You and your mother can hold the fort for an hour or so, can’t you?”

Dad looks a little concerned. Tweek knows there aren’t any business meetings scheduled on the calendar for this month. Something so short notice is fishy. There’s no way Dad’s going to tell him anything though. He’ll just talk around it with his frustrating metaphors.

So, Tweek simply shrugs, “Yeah, no problem.”

“Just,” and Dad’s deadly serious tone puts Tweek on edge, “just stick to making the daily blend with Black Jack, alright?”

Tweek nods, determined to ask Mom if everything’s okay with their suppliers as soon as he’s gone.

“ _Promise me_ you won’t touch Fred today,” Dad comes closer, and Tweek notices he looks a little pale. This morning he was full of energy and vigor, able to pick Tweek up like he used to when he was a small child. Now, he looks tired and unsettled. Something’s _wrong_.

“You _never_ let us touch Fred,” Tweek’s eye twitches uncomfortably, as if it’s reacting to the mood in the room, “so I won’t, I promise.”

“You’re a good boy, Tweek,” Dad says with a touch of relief in his voice, “my well-behaved, little homosexual.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say it like that,” Tweek grumbles as Dad shoos him onto the shop floor.

Still, it doesn’t dull Tweek’s enthusiasm for working with Black Jack today.

“Good afternoon, Jack” Tweek says to their oldest coffee machine, giggling a little about the fact that he’s treating ‘him’ like an old friend or well-loved pet. It’s been years since Tweek sadly lost Pollux, but he’s always happy to chat to Stripe when he’s over at Craig’s.

The coffee shop is fairly quiet on Wednesday afternoons. Sometimes Craig or Tricia, or one of the guys, will come in for a bit and do some homework at a table in the corner, or sip a drink at the counter, chatting to Tweek when he gets the chance.

None of their regulars are currently sat in. In fact, there isn’t anyone sat in at all. Tweek’s first cup of daily blend is served to a woman in her mid-thirties. She takes it black in a cup to go, and Tweek manages to persuade her to take a brownie too. Dad will be proud!

As soon as he emerges from the back, Tweek rushes over to tell him, “Dad, I managed to do an up-”

“That’s great, Tweek,” Dad interrupts, not really listening as he checks his watch, “fill me in later, kiddo, I’ve got to run.”

He ruffles Tweek’s messy bird nest, makes his way over to Mom and presses a soft kiss to her cheek, then rushes out of the shop without so much as a backward glance.

“Mom,” Tweek says warily, “is everything okay? Dad’s acting weird…well, more weird than usual.”

Mom turns to smile at him, “He’s just a little stressed. You know how he is, sweetie.” _Do I?_ Sometimes, Tweek’s not so sure he gets Dad. “All or nothing, your father. You don’t need to worry about our adult problems.”

“A-adult problems? Are we in financial trouble? W-will we be forced to close the shop?” Tweek suddenly fears his worries about the shop weren’t unfounded at all. “Is Dad really going to a ‘business meeting’ or is he off trying to get us a loan? Oh God, oh Jesus!”

“Tweek, honey,” Mom pats his arm in an attempt to reassure him, “I didn’t mean any specific problem. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything, darling.”

Tweek buries his face in Mom’s dress. He shouldn’t be adding to their ‘adult problems’ by behaving like a child.

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” he says sadly, “I’m scared, Mom. I don’t want us to close the shop.”

Mom runs her fingers soothingly through his hair, “We won’t, Tweek. Your father and I will do _anything_ for the most important things in our lives. _You_ and the shop.” She keeps stroking his hair, “ _Anything_ ,” she repeats, her voice choking up.

Tweek clutches her tighter when he feels something tickling his hair. It takes a moment for him to realize Mom’s crying above his head. She’s as quiet as a mouse, and when Tweek dares to look up, she’s already composed herself with a sad smile. She dabs at her eyes with a napkin.

“I love you, Mom,” Tweek pulls her close again, “I love you and Dad so much. P-please don’t cry.”

“Oh sweetie,” Mom gives him a squeeze, then blows her nose into the napkin. She releases Tweek to throw it away and heads to the sink to wash her hands, “nothing’s your fault,” she adds, her tone leaving no room for argument, “I want you to remember that, okay?”

“O-okay.”

“We’re not in trouble, but your father-”

She stops mid-sentence as the door opens, signalling the arrival of a customer. It’s Jaxon with his laptop bag. He’s later than usual and takes his time settling in to his usual chair by the power socket. Once he’s all plugged in, he looks up and waves at the pair. 

“Right,” Mom slaps her cheeks, “that’s enough sad faces around here today. You go check in with Jaxon, Tweek.”

Tweek’s torn between running over to Jaxon or staying close and keeping an eye on Mom when she dramatically points in Jaxon’s direction. “Go! I’ll be fine. Just my time of the month messing with my emotions.”

“Urgh, tmi,” Tweek pretends to gag, but he’s relieved Mom seems to be picking up, so he heads over to Jaxon’s table.

“Hi Jax-” Tweek swallows the older guy’s name, surprised by how rough Jaxon looks today, “Jaxon. W-what can I get you?”

“Hey Tweek,” Jaxon stops typing for a moment, “can I get a brownie and your strongest Sunset Blend please?”

Tweek bites his lip, “I’m afraid Dad’s out at the moment. I can do a double shot of the daily blend?”

Jaxon frowns, “Well…I guess…sure.”

He looks white-wash pale under the shop’s lights; his skin’s in terrible condition, all blotchy, spotty and greasy. Tweek doesn’t know what to say, so he rushes over to Black Jack and makes the long black using a double shot. He plates the biggest-looking brownie and delivers it as quickly as he can.

“Here, enjoy,” Tweek tries to make eye contact with Jaxon, worried when bloodshot eyes meet his gaze.

“Thanks…I know, I look like shit. I’ve got a couple more days before I hand in this assignment. I’m almost there, but it’s _killing_ me. Literally.”

Jaxon blows at his cup and takes a few sips. Tweek hovers, waiting for his reaction.

“It’s strong, but…your Dad’s has a kick. That’s what I need right now. Are you _sure_ you can’t make me a Sunset Blend?”

Tweek looks back at Red Fred. _Nope. No can do. Dad will never forgive you._

“No, forget it,” Jaxon sighs deeply, “I’ll holler if I need another caffeine shot. Thanks, Tweek.”

Tweek backs away from Jaxon’s table, an uncomfortable feeling rolling in his stomach. He wasn’t going to give in and use Fred anyway, not after how Dad was acting earlier, but everything’s weird today. Usually it’s Tweek who feels like the odd one out. Now Dad’s running off to unscheduled meetings, Mom’s upset over unspecified adult problems and Jaxon’s giving off some odd vibes.

He pulls out his phone, jittery fingers desperate to write something to Craig.

_Craig I thinjk the univrese isout to get mee, eberyone’s acting so srtange-_

_i tgink maybe you were ritgh about Jax-_

_Can you conme over-_

_Slpw day, boerd. what are you foing? x_

_Message sent_

Tweek works on auto-pilot as customers come into shop in dribs and drabs. He only stops moving about when his apron buzzes, and he pulls his phone out to check Craig’s reply. He’s supposed to have cleaned Stripe’s cage out today.

_Playing with Stripe. He misses you too, honey xx_

Craig sends some photos of Stripe chewing on piece of carrot and sitting in Craig’s lap. _They’re so cute,_ Tweek grins, happy to focus on his wonderful boyfriend and their cute guinea pig son. He’s a spoilt little piggie.

“I’m going to do a stock check, sweetie,” Mom says as she finishes wiping down the surfaces. “Give me a shout if you need me, okay?”

“Will do,” Tweek replies, typing a quick message back to Craig.

_Huf him for me to plaese. Ad let him hug you rfom me x_

A few seconds later, Craig’s message pops up.

_Done and done xx_

Tweek replenishes the brownies on display, wipes down Black Jack and refills the napkins as time passes by ever so slowly. Luckily, Craig keeps sending photos to stave off the boredom. Tweek’s so engrossed in Stripe’s cute antics, he’s completely unaware when a voice pops up behind him.

“Tweek, I _need_ a coffee, please. _Sunset Blend,_ ” Jaxon’s voice is unsteady as he looms over Tweek, “ _please._ ”

“Jaxon,” Tweek decides to be honest with him, “only Dad can serve that blend. It’s like…his baby? I’m really sorry. He’ll _kill_ me if I go behind his back.”

It must have been the wrong choice of words, because Jaxon’s face drops and he lunges at Tweek, pushing him back against the wall with a thud. “You don’t _get it,_ Tweek,” he hisses like a wild animal, “don’t you even know what that blend _is?_ ”

Tweek tries to push back, his mind racing. _Oh God, oh God, do something. But it’s a customer, you can’t assault a customer!! Jesus, help me!_

“I’ll pay double. Triple. I don’t fucking care, just give me the damn coffee,” Jaxon’s hands are heavy on Tweek’s shoulders, his thumbs pressing threateningly into his neck. Tweek whimpers as he loses control of his breathing, but Jaxon only presses deeper, his eyes unfocussed and devoid of any emotion. It’s as if he’s been possessed.

_Enough of this shit._

Tweek forcefully raises his knee into Jaxon’s groin, watching him stumble back just enough for him to push him off. 

“Jaxon, I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but you have to stop this!” Tweek raises his hands in submission, trying to appear as small and non-threatening as he can. They really don’t want a lawsuit on their hands, even if Tweek was only acting in self-defence.

“You’re not _listening_ to me,” Jaxon shouts, and with renewed strength he slaps Tweek’s arms away and shoves him as hard as he can against the nearest table. The force is enough to topple Tweek over, and he hits the ground sideways with a wince. The noise is loud enough to bring Mom out of the back room in a flurry.

“What on Earth-” she spots Tweek on the floor and Jaxon panting heavily, sweating and disorientated. “ _Get out_ ,” she growls at Jaxon like a protective mama bear; her voice calm but dripping with a venom Tweek hadn’t realized she was capable of. “Grab your things and get out, _now_. Before I call the cops.”

She grabs their sweeping brush, holding it out like a weapon as she stands in front of Tweek. Jaxon seems to snap out of whatever trance he was in and lets out a distressed noise.

“Oh my God, oh my,” he looks at his hands, then drags them over his face, “Fuck. I’m so sorry. Tweek, I’m so sorry, I’ll-” he stumbles back to his table, pulling the power socket out of the wall and shoving everything into his laptop bag. He deposits a wad of notes onto his table and looks back at the pair, horrified at his actions and eyes full of shame and regret. “I’m sorry.”

Tweek doesn’t hear him go. He barely feels Mom’s arms around him, holding him close. It’s as if he’s aware that she’s holding his body, but his mind and spirit are elsewhere. He’s detached from it all, simply floating. Trying to make sense of it all. Trying to _breathe_.

He answers her questions with ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answers, but he can’t bring himself to speak until he sees her getting out her phone.

“ _Nngh_ d-don’t tell Dad,” he whispers, half-curled into her lap like an attention-seeking kitten, “ _please don’t tell Dad_.”


	10. tell him the truth

Mom doesn’t call Dad, Craig, the Tuckers, the cops, _anyone_. She helps Tweek to his feet and eases him into a chair, stroking his hair with her dainty, gentle hands. He quivers under her touches, hands clutching at his knees as the adrenaline seeps out of his system.

He’s still coming round when a customer pops in. Tweek watches the man’s neutral expression turn into an embarrassed grimace; like when you walk into the wrong classroom and have to make a hasty exit. Mom must have given him a look or a vibe for _sorry, not now_ , because he quickly turns on his heel and walks out.

“T-that’s not very customer friendly,” Tweek says cheekily as turns to her, still a little shaky but processing the situation in his own time, “what would Dad say?”

Mom smiles, “He’d probably offer him a discount to come back later, then persuade him to take some of your scrummy cupcakes home,” then, more seriously, she adds, “he wouldn’t choose the coffee over you, Tweek.”

Tweek sighs, resting his arms on the table and laying his head on them. “I know, Mom. I’m just worried he’s involved in something _dangerous_ and it’s stressing him out.”

“It’s complicated,” Mom says, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Tweek’s ear, “but trust your father. He knows what he’s doing _most_ of the time.”

They share at grin at Dad’s single-mindedness, but it’s true that Dad’s a hard worker who knows how to _tweak_ a situation to his advantage. He’s genuinely interested in their livelihood, even if sometimes his ideas are...questionable.

“Thanks for not calling him…or Craig,” Tweek really isn’t looking forward to sharing the details later. Maybe he should ask to keep it between him and Mom? “It really wasn’t as bad as it looked.”

Mom frowns, “I didn’t know what to think, I just reacted to you being on the floor.”

“It got a bit heated,” Tweek admits, closing his eyes as his side twitches. He’ll probably ache for a few days, but it’s Jaxon’s words that will haunt him the most. “But it was my own clumsiness, too.”

He coughs dryly, and Mom heads over to Black Jack, “I’ll get you a coffee, sweetheart.”

“It wasn’t Jaxon,” Tweek murmurs, and at her look, he tries to explain himself, “not the Jaxon we know, I mean. _Argh_ , it’s hard to put into words.”

Black Jack quickly spits out a long black. Mom brings it over and Tweek sits up to inhale it. He feels a little better already.

“I think I understand,” Mom says thoughtfully, “it isn’t like Jaxon to be violent.” She sits on the opposite chair and places one hand over Tweek’s free one. “What did he say?”

Tweek swallows more coffee, trying to find his words. “He really wanted a Sunset Blend. I told him only Dad can make those and he flipped out.”

“You should have called for me,” Mom scolds, “I was so worried he’d do more than push you.”

Tweek shakes his head, the white lie tucking itself between all the put downs and anxious thoughts; just one more thing to worry over later, “It was over so quickly, and besides, he looked ill today. Or strung out? Did you see his face? His eyes?”

“I did,” Mom squeezes his hand, “I think he was _on something_ , honey. I didn’t want him to hurt you, but I didn’t want him to hurt himself, either. Maybe I shouldn’t have sent him away like that?”

“He was lucid when he left,” Tweek finishes his coffee in two big gulps, “I think he was more frightened about the whole thing than we were.”

Mom takes his face into her hands, “When your father gets back, I’m taking you home.”

“ _Nngh_ , no, it’s okay,” Tweek panics, preferring things to continue as normal, otherwise he’s sure he’ll work himself into a state, “I can stay here.”

“Tweek-”

“But I’d like to invite someone over, if that’s okay?”

Mom nods slowly, “Alright, but your shift is officially over. Richard will be back shortly; I can handle things until then.”

“Thanks Mom.”

She stands up with a sigh, then kneels by his chair, “You’re _really_ okay, Tweek? You can tell me if you aren’t.”

“I’m okay,” Tweek nods. _Liar_ , his mind taunts, but Tweek ignores the voice. He won’t worry Mom anymore today. “A bit sore, but okay.”

“Make sure you rub some ointment on before bed,” Mom says, trying to tug his shirt up to take a look, but Tweek won’t let her.

“I will, I will,” he pushes her fussing hands away. “It’s nothing serious. We weren’t fighting!”

“Alright,” Mom stands up and smooths her dress out. “You know how I worry.”

Tweek gets his phone out, relieved that he didn’t crush it when he fell, and shoots off a quick text.

_Pleaes can you come ovre to Twak bros? dont tell craif ? x_

“I know,” Tweek grins, “we should be called the Worriers, not the Tweaks!”

“How about the Anxious?” Mom adds with a chuckle.

“The Paranoids?”

“The Worrywarts?”

“The Nervous Nellies?”

They both start laughing, and are still in a fit of giggles when Dad walks through the door. “Working hard I see,” he teases, looking a lot better than when he left.

“How was the meeting?” Tweek asks, relieved to see Dad back to his usual self.

“Short and sweet, like our espresso served with a teaspoon of sugar. Has it been busy?”

Mom and Tweek exchange a glance, Tweek trying to telepathically dissuade her from saying anything about Jaxon. He watches her sashay towards Jaxon’s table to pick up the notes he’d left behind.

“You could say it’s been eventful,” she waves the bills at him and Dad just beams.

“That’s my favorite duo. I knew I had nothing to worry about.”

Mom passes the cash to Dad, then comes to stand behind Tweek’s chair. “I’m giving Tweek the rest of the session off. He wasn’t feeling well earlier, but he was a champ with Black Jack today.”

“I managed to upsell a brownie, too,” Tweek grins, and Dad comes over to pat him on the back.

“Good job, son. I’m sorry I missed it. I’d better get myself ready then, if it’s just us,” he kisses Mom’s cheek and heads into the back room.

“Thanks for covering, Mom,” Tweek smiles gratefully, his phone buzzing with a reply.

_Sure, be there soon. Hope you’re ok?? <3 x_

“Want anything else sweetie pie?” Mom asks, taking Tweek’s empty cup. 

“Another coffee, please,” Tweek nods, “and a white hot chocolate.”

\---

Tweek’s halfway through his second coffee when a familiar figure with strawberry blonde braids tackles him into a hug, nearly sloshing his drink everywhere. He puts his cup down to return the hug, shaky fingers gripping at the oversized woollen jumper that swamps his visitor.

“We left as soon as we could without looking suspicious,” the soft voice mumbles into Tweek’s messy shirt, “I’m glad you contacted me.”

Tweek gives the girl in his arms a squeeze, “Thanks for rushing over, Trish. I sorta panicked.”

Tricia pulls back, “That’s sorta what you do most of the time, Tweek,” she smiles at him, though there’s still a flicker of concern in her gaze, “but this was different…I was so worried when I read your text,” she admits as she sits in the opposite chair.

Mom brings over her white hot chocolate. “Thanks for coming, sweetie. We had a bit of a scare earlier,” she lowers her voice as Dad waves to Tricia, “currently, it’s just between us.”

“Thanks Mrs. Tweak, you can count on me,” Tricia pops one of the marshmallows into her mouth, swallowing it with a satisfied smile, “if somebody did something to you, Tweek, I’ll fuck ‘em up.”

Tricia practises street dancing and kick boxing, so Tweek knows she’s more than capable of following through. The Tuckers are a tough bunch, able to use their height and indifference to intimidate anyone who pisses them off. But to Tweek, they’re loveable softies who dote on him as if he’s one of the family.

“So,” Tricia takes a sip of her drink, savouring it, before the grilling begins, “what the hell happened to get you so rattled?”

“Please don’t be mad,” Tweek stares down into his coffee. “Jaxon freaked out today. He _gnk_ really wanted Dad’s coffee, so I guess I still have a _long_ way to go as a barista, but…Trish, he really lost it. I thought I’d have to actually fight him, _argh_ ,” Tweek’s pulling his hair hard enough to loosen a few strands.

Tricia reaches over to cover his hands with hers. “Shit, Tweek,” she makes eye contact with him, and Tweek can see the resemblance to Craig, “I thought he _liked_ you? That’s messed up. Did he hurt you?”

Tweek releases his hair and clasps Tricia’s hands for support. “He…pushed me against the wall. I got him off, but he shoved me hard. No serious damage, but I’m worried it’ll bruise. If Craig sees…”

“That fucker,” Tricia squeezes Tweek’s hands, “how dare he lay a finger on you Tweek. I know he’s a loyal customer, but dammit, that’s uncalled for.”

“He was on drugs, Trish. When he left, he looked really confused and upset. I’m worried about him.”

“You’re too nice, Tweek,” Tricia sighs, releasing one hand so she can devour another half-melted marshmallow, “he hurt you and you’re the one empathizing. I’m glad I got Mom to drop me off. If Dad was here, he’d freak out. And my fuckboy brother will definitely kick Jaxon’s ass.”

“Craig can’t know about this,” Tweek sighs, “not when he trusts Jaxon now. It’ll mess everything up.”

“Are you going to get a restraining order,” Tricia asks seriously, “I mean, he assaulted you, Tweek.”

“Assault?!” Tweek shrieks, before realizing Dad could overhear, “No, no, it wasn’t that serious. Besides, I did sorta knee him in the balls before he could do any real damage.”

Tricia chuckles, “I’m surprised you didn’t just knock his lights out. Fucker deserved that much. He seemed such a gentle guy, I wonder what happened?”

“I wish I knew,” Tweek finishes his coffee with one hand, still holding Tricia’s in the other. It’s nothing like when he holds hands with Craig. He really feels like Tricia’s his little sister too sometimes. It’s nice to have a sibling to talk to like this. “I realized when the guys showed me the investigation board that I knew so little about him.”

“Well, he comes here to work not socialize. Even if he is stressing out about college, it wasn’t fair to take it out on you. None of this was your fault, Tweek.”

Tricia downs her hot chocolate, then she stands up and walks behind Tweek’s chair to give him a hug from behind. From this position, she can rest her head on top of his, just like Clyde does. Tweek’s glad his uncontrollable locks are fluffy soft, allowing him to become a walking pillow.

“Seriously, I’ll deck his gay ass,” Tricia grumbles from above.

“Actually, we think he’s bi,” Tweek chuckles in response, “he’s had girlfriends and a fling with a Mexican guy.”

“Ahh, close enough,” Tricia shrugs as best she can with her arms around Tweek, “my gaydar hasn’t been wrong yet.”

“So, Karen-?”

“Today’s about you, mister,” Tricia fluffs at his hair, “but seriously, Tweek,” the youngest Tucker tugs at his hair so that Tweek tilts his head to look up at her. Piercing green eyes soften as they lock eyes. “What are you going to do?”

Tweek feels around in his apron for the Brick, then waves it at her. “I think I’m going to ask Kenny for help.”

“Craig won’t like that,” Tricia grins; like Tweek, she has a soft spot for Karen’s older brother.

It’s true, Craig probably won’t, but Kenny’s seen a lot of shit. Tweek knows first-hand that just hanging out with Cartman, Stan and Kyle invites danger. He’s always worried Kenny will get himself _killed_ one of these days. But he’s also hardy, reliable and adaptable. Tweek wants to prepare and protect himself for anything rather than just relying on brute strength alone, and there’s no one better to ask for advice than Kenny McCormick.

“That’s why I’m not going to tell him. You won’t…?”

Tricia shakes her head, “I won’t say anything to that fuckboy. I trust you, Tweek. And you trust me too, or you wouldn’t have asked me over.”

“That’s true,” Tweek smiles, “I know I say it a lot, but…Craig doesn’t realize how lucky he is that _you’re_ his sister.”

Tricia laughs, her braided hair falling over her shoulder, “One day, I’ll be your sister too, and then I’ll be the lucky one!”

Tricia may joke about it, but Tweek knows that deep down, she wants the best for Craig. They may not always see eye to eye, and they fight like cat and dog, but Craig loves his sister, and she loves him. Even better, Tweek loves them and they both love him.

“If it’s too much pressure, you can always talk to me, Tweek. I’ve got your back. All of us do. You’re like, a revered figure in our house!”

Her mobile buzzes with a text. It’s probably Mrs. Tucker, getting ready to pick Tricia up.

“Ha, thanks. I do feel better talking about it,” he says honestly, “and knowing I have so many people looking out for me…that means a lot. I hope you know it’s mutual.”

“’Course we do. You’ve helped us so many times; Craig especially,” she looks down at her phone, “Mom’ll be here in ten, but before I go, there’s one thing I _have_ to do!”

Tricia looks serious, and when she pulls a hair brush out of her crossbody bag, Tweek just sighs in resignation.

“Go ahead,” he nods, moving his chair back to give her access. She tries her best to tame his wild locks, then the multi-colored hair slides come out and Tweek grunts and moans a little bit as she attacks his hairline.

When she’s finally done, Mrs. Tucker pulls up outside the coffee shop, waiting in the car.

“Looking extra cute, Tweek!” Tricia giggles, holding up her phone, “Let’s take a photo that’ll piss Craig off!”

Tweek wraps an arm around her, still shocked at her growth spurt after towering over her for years, and then the camera on her phone flashes.

“I’ll tag you,” she grins, “don’t worry, I won’t tell Craig about any of this, but…promise me you’ll keep safe?”

“I’ll do my best!” He follows her to door to greet Mrs. Tucker. 

“Yeah,” Tricia waves goodbye to Mom and Dad, pausing at the door to add, “Kenny’s more reliable than Craig any day. Just don’t let him lead you on. He’s straight, but like, _only just_. And you’re so cute, Tweek. I won’t let anyone other than my stupid brother touch you.”

Tweek laughs, feeling so much lighter as he teases back, “Oh, and you think they’d be able to?”

“Nah, I’m just protective,” Tricia presses a kiss to Tweek’s cheek, “I’m not stupid enough to think you couldn’t handle anything yourself. It’s just, you shouldn’t _have_ to. See you later.”

Tweek’s glad he asked Tricia to come over, and that she’s supportive of him asking Kenny to lend a hand. He looks down at the Brick, running low on battery, and types out a quick message.

_Is tge offer still open? Nt the peryv one. I need yur help pleas._

For some reason he can’t quite understand, Tweek knows he must prepare for _something_. He doesn’t know what and he doesn’t know when. Sure, it’s probably just his paranoia overcomplicating things as per usual.

_But what if it isn’t?_

All he knows is that he can’t sit around and do _nothing_. Whatever this feeling is, it’s urging him to take action. Tweek could ignore the sickening feeling; he could give in and spill everything to Craig and the gang…

Jaxon’s sudden aggression, Dad’s secret meeting, Mom’s emotional outburst.

He could try his best to ignore it all, but he knows, deep down he won’t.

He _can’t._

Tweek isn’t prepared to take the risk.

His phone buzzes twice.

_Sure, Tweekie pie. Come over after your shift on Saturday._

_Shame :P No Craig? x_

Tweek bites his lip as he texts Kenny back.

_No craig_

\---

The next few days are uneventful, at school and at the coffee shop. Mom keeps an eye out for Jaxon on the shifts Tweek doesn’t work, but he doesn’t show.

Tweek knows he’s on edge despite trying to curb it with his meds; he’s unable to control any of his usual outbursts and his verbal tics frequently pepper his conversations. He’s constantly jumping at the noise of lockers being slammed shut when he walks down the halls. He tugs and pulls at his hair and shirt, fingers always fussing. He’s grateful for the ADHD toys that Craig carries in his bag for whenever it’s too much, relying on them to get him through class.

The guys express concern, and Tweek’s quick to blame it on exhaustion and the stress of the ‘I Can Chat’ events, but this only makes the others more determined to help.

Jimmy invites them to his house over the weekend for a relaxing break. Mrs. Valmer is embracing the self-care movement and has a stock of wellness teas, exercise routines and treats to help her family de-stress. Tweek is more than up for it, since he’s been slacking with his meditation lately and his concentration is suffering.

“I’m helping Dad on Saturday, but Sunday’s good,” Clyde says enthusiastically. He’s never one to miss a trip to Jimmy’s house since his mom adores him, “I wouldn’t turn down dinner from Mrs. Valmer!”

“I swear she prepares double when you’re over, Clyde,” Jimmy chortles, “you guys in?”

Craig looks at Tweek first, waiting for his answer.

“Sunday _nngh_ works for me,” Tweek says, secretly pleased he won’t have to cancel on Kenny. He’s still not sure what to say to Craig, since he’ll be at the coffee shop during Tweek’s Saturday shift.

Craig nods, “Me too.”

Token also seems relieved, “I’m taking Nichole out tomorrow, so yeah, count me in for Sunday.”

When they part ways, Craig and Tweek hand in hand as soon as they’re off the bus, Tweek can feel Craig’s eyes on him. They stand outside Craig’s front door, but before Tweek can enter the house, Craig tugs on his sleeve.

“Babe…what’s really wrong?” Craig asks, and there’s a hint of worry behind his flat, nasally tone, “You’ve been _off_ these last few days.”

Tweek isn’t surprised that Craig’s bringing it up now they’re alone. He hasn’t been fooling anyone that his stress levels are through the roof, but how much can he say? The whole Jaxon thing is a no-go, but he can’t be dishonest with Craig. They’ve faced communication difficulties in their relationship before, and he can’t afford to let Craig push him away or shut down on him now.

“Yeah,” Tweek turns to look up at his concerned boyfriend, grasping at the flaps of his chullo, “there’s so much shit going on, Craig. It’s freaking me out a bit.”

“Can I help?” Craig places his large hands on top of Tweek’s, his expression serious.

Tweek loves that Craig’s pro-active when he finds a cause to get behind, and his support means the world to Tweek, “Just being there for me helps,” he admits, “the toys were really useful this week. I _ah_ have so much in my head.”

Craig slowly takes his hat off and puts it onto Tweek’s head, squashing down his flyaway locks. Several strands of wispy blond hair poke out since Tweek’s hair is longer than Craig’s, but he appreciates the gesture. The chullo smells like Craig since he practically lives in the thing. Before he realizes it, Tweek’s hands are tugging at the chullo flaps instead of his hair. It’s oddly comforting, and Craig smiles at him with a mixture of relief and adoration.

God, Tweek wants to kiss him and tell him _everything_.

“I’ll always lend you an ear, honey,” Craig says warmly, “don’t panic on your own, okay?”

Tweek knows he can’t put all his burdens on Craig, but if he can share a few, it would take some of the weight – and the guilt – off. “There’s a man who sometimes comes into the coffee shop,” he says slowly, “he knows Dad, but there’s something sinister about him.”

“Sinister?” Craig frowns, “In what way?”

“I think he’s _gnk_ dangerous, Craig. Oh Jesus, I think Dad’s involved-”

Craig’s front door suddenly swings open, and Tweek shrieks and stumbles into Craig, halting his confession.

“Boys!” Mr. Tucker booms, “Don’t just stand out there, come in, come in!”

He waves them inside, beaming at Tweek wearing his son’s infamous hat, “Tweek, you know I recently received a picture of you wearing Craig’s chullo, let me see if I can find it and we can compare-”

“After dinner, dear,” Mrs. Tucker interrupts with a fond sigh, “it’s nice to see you, Tweek. Craig, take off your shoes, for goodness sake.”

Craig flips her off but kicks his dirty sneakers off all the same.

“Tweek!” Tricia jumps up and greets him, “Ahh, you’re gonna have to wash your hair tonight,” she points at the hat, “it’s probably full of Craig’s dandruff and skin flakes and-”

“Shut it, Trish,” Craig growls, “Tweek doesn’t care about that shit.”

“Well,” Tweek tugs uncomfortably at the chullo, “when she puts it like that, it _is_ pretty gross.”

“Aww, sweetie,” Craig’s mom ruffles his hair, “your hygiene isn’t anywhere near as bad as it was. We owe Tweek so much.”

Craig bats her hand away and groans, “Call us when dinner’s ready.” He tugs Tweek upstairs and away from his family, ignoring the same shit-eating grin that’s plastered across their usually inexpressive faces.

As soon as they’re in Craig’s room, Tweek removes the chullo, “Um. When did you last wash it, Craig?”

“Mom washed it on…Monday, I think? Jeez, Tweek, is sharing something with your boyfriend really that bad?”

Tweek shrugs, “No, but when said boyfriend forgets to wash his hands on a regular basis…”

“Alright,” Craig flops backwards onto his bed, “I get it. I’m trying, babe. Some habits are hard to break. You know that better than anyone.”

“I do,” Tweek joins him, flopping down by his side, “which is why I’ll still wear your disgusting hat. It’s just making my head a bit hot, that’s all.”

Tweek feels around for Craig’s hand and grasps it tightly.

“That sinister man,” Craig mumbles, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars that are dotted all over his ceiling; the ones they’d put up together with Tweek riding on Craig’s shoulders, jolting and squeaking every time one fell off. “Is he a loan shark or something?”

“I dunno,” Tweek cuddles closer, “I just get a weird vibe off him. Mom says not to worry, and I know that as soon as someone says that, I freak out, but…I wish I knew what was going on.”

Craig rubs this thumb softly over Tweek’s hand, “I’m glad you told me, Tweek. Your mom’s probably right, but your dad is the kinda guy who attracts trouble.”

“I want to say it isn’t his fault, but,” Tweek lets out a humorless laugh, “that’s exactly why I’m worried.”

“Point the guy out when I’m there next time,” Craig turns to face Tweek, “or get a sly photo if you can. Just in case.”

“I can try, but he never stays around for long,” Tweek admits, remembering the dark look he’d been given when he caught his eye during their first ‘I Can Chat’ event. “And he’s definitely not the type of guy who wants his photo taking.”

Craig sits up, still holding onto Tweek’s hand, “Is he making you feel unsafe, Tweek?”

“Well, I don’t seem him enough for that, but he’s someone I want to keep an eye on. Don’t tell the others?”

Craig seems thoughtful, scanning Tweek’s face for any hint that he’s playing it down, “I think I need to spend more time in Tweak Bro’s,” he says eventually, “but I’ll keep it between us for now.”

“Thanks Craig.”

It’s times like these, just sitting beside Craig and talking through his thoughts and worries, that Tweek realizes Craig really knows how to handle him. They’ve gone through so much together, and despite the ups and downs of their first year, Craig has always been a truly caring and protective boyfriend.

Tweek doesn’t want to hide anything from him. _Oh yeah?_ The voice taunts, _Why not spill it all then?_

“I’m going over to Kenny’s tomorrow,” Tweek says, ignoring the taunts twittering away at the back of his mind.

“Yeah? Do you want me to come?” Craig knocks his shoulder against Tweek’s. When he twitches in response, Craig just gives him a small smile. “We’re not attached at the hip, honey. And I haven’t anything against Kenny personally. He was always the most tolerable of the four. He’d better keep his lechy hands to himself, though.”

Tweek grins, “I suspect he thinks you’re all bark and no bite, Craig. He does actually want to get along with you. Why do you make it so hard?”

“Fucking Peru,” is all Craig grumbles, dropping Tweek’s hand so he can rest his head on Tweek's chest.

“Craig, that was years ago, man,” Tweek sighs, running his hand through Craig’s hair since he’s yet to put his chullo back on. “I know it sucked, but, _nngh_ it was an accident, right?”

“They stole my money,” Craig mumbles into Tweek’s shirt, “and that was _no_ accident. I’ll never get that $100, or those hours of my life, back, babe.”

“You still have the journal?” Tweek asks, knowing that Craig learned a lot from his time in the Andes. For the first time, he’d had a taste of what it was really like to hang out with Stan’s group when the shit went down. He soon realized that there are some things in life that you just can’t control, and you have to face that. Craig thinks the experience developed his maturity, but his trust in people was at an all-time low.

Craig nods, “Somewhere in storage.”

“I’d like to read it someday,” Tweek smiles, “Get a feel for what it was like…if you’d let me? We can trade stories! I went through a lot with those guys too. Real crazy shit…but it wasn’t _all_ bad. At least we both survived!”

There’s a low rumble of a chuckle as Craig looks up, “We did. And yeah, we should. But they’re still dicks, Tweek. It’s not that I don’t trust McCormick, it’s just, he’s an unlucky son of a bitch. I don’t know how the hell he’s still with us after all he’s gone through. He seems…invincible.”

“There’s something special about Kenny,” Tweek agrees, “not in a bad way, and maybe not in a good way either, but I like him. And I’m not afraid to hit him where it hurts if he takes his teasing too far.”

“Good on you, honey.”

“I’ll text you when I get there _and_ when I’m leaving.”

“I didn’t say anything, Tweek.”

“You didn’t have to,” Tweek grins.

A long, loud squeal interrupts their conversation, and Craig jumps up. “I think Stripe’s feeling left out,” he smiles as their guinea pig continues wheeking for attention.

“Let him out,” Tweek agrees, “I think I’m overdue some piggy cuddles.”

They make sure Craig’s room is safe and piggy-proof first, filling up his spare water bottle and piling up shredded paper, before giving Stripe his much-loved floor time. He’s instantly zooming across the room, around the boy’s legs and under the bed.

Craig sets up the obstacles and tunnels they’ve bought or made together, and the pair curl up beside each other as they watch Stripe navigating them, on the hunt for snacks.

It’s when Stripe finally climbs into his piggy bed, the one they purchased on their last trip to the pet store, that Tweek hooks his pinky finger around Craig’s.

“Thanks for always listening, Craig,” he says with the upmost honesty, leaning his head against Craig’s shoulder.

_One day, I hope I can tell you everything._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 01/30/21 - I never posted the rest of my finished chapters because I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to go in the direction I originally planned. For the longest time, I put off writing for this story, and the chapters just sat there. I was really torn between just giving up and deleting it all or taking my time to re-write the chapters I have...I haven't even reached the parts that I was most happy with back when I came up with this idea a year ago.
> 
> It may have lost its spark, but it isn't out just yet. 
> 
> Thank you.


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